TBEIRONTREyET 


LIBRARY 

University    «f    California 

IRVINE 


THE  JRON  TREVET 

:     :     OR     :     : 

JOCELYN    THE    CHAMPION 


A  Tale  of  the   Jacquerie 
By    EUGENE     SUE 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE   ORIGINAL   FRENCH  BY 
DAN IEL    DE   LEON 

NEW    YORK    LABOR    NEWS    COMPANY,     TQ^ 


Copyright,  1906,  by  the 
NEW  YORK  I.ABOR  NEWS  CO. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


Etienne  Marcel,  John  Maillart,  William  Caillet,  Adam  the 
Devil  and  Charles  the  Wicked,  King  of  Navarre,  are  the  five 
leading  personages  in  this  story.  Their  figures  and  actions,  the 
virtues  and  foibles  of  the  ones,  the  vices  of  the  others,  the  er- 
rors of  all,  are  drawn  with  strict  historic  accuracy,  all  the  five 
being  historic  characters.  Seeing  the  historic  importance  of 
the  epoch  in  which  they  figured,  and  the  types  that  these  five 
men  represent,  the  story  of  "The  Iron  Trevet;  or,  Jocelyn,  the 
Champion"  is  more  than  an  historic  narrative,  it  is  more  than 
a  treatise  on  the  philosophy  of  history,  it  is  a  treatise  on  human 
nature,  it  is  a  compendium  of  lessons  inestimable  to  whomsoever 
his  or  her  good  or  evil  genius  throws  into  the  clash  of  human 
currents,  and  to  those  who,  though  not  themselves  participants, 
still  may  wish  to  understand  that  which  they  are  spectators  of 
and  which,  some  way  or  other,  they  are  themselves  affected  by 
and,  some  way  or  other,  are  bound  to  either  support  or  resist. 

In  a  way,  "The  Iron  Trevet;  or,  Jocelyn  the  Champion"  is 
the  uniquest  of  the  series  of  brilliant  stories  that  the  genius  of 
Eugene  Sue  has  enriched  the  world  with  under  the  collective  title 
of  "The  Mysteries  of  the  People" — we  can  recall  no  other  in- 
stance in  which  so  much  profound  and  practical  instruction  is  so 
skillfully  clad  in  the  pleasing  drapery  of  fiction,  and  one  within 
so  small  a  compass. 

To  America  whose  youthful  years  deprive  her  of  historic  per- 
spective, this  little  story,  or  rather  work,  can  not  but  be  of  service. 
To  that  vast  English-speaking  world  at  large,  now  throbbing 
with  the  pulse  of  awakening  aspirations,  this  translation  discloses 
another  treasure  trove,  long  and  deliberately  held  closed  to  it 
in  the  wrappage  of  the  foreign  tongue  in  which  the  original 
appeared.  DANIEL  DE  LEON. 

New  York,  April  13,  1904. 


INDEX 

Translator's  Preface iii 

Part  I.    The  Seigniory  of  Nointel. 

Chapter  1.    The  Tavern  of  Alison  the  Huffy 10 

Chapter  2.    The  Amende  Honorable 26 

Chapter  3.     TheTournament 34 

Chapter  4.    The  Judicial  Combat 39 

Chapter  5.     Sheet  Lightenings 50 

Chapter  6.    Prophecies  and  Premonitions 68 

Chapter  7.    Wrecked  Hearts 65 

Part  II.     The  Eegency  of  Normandy. 

Chapter  1.     The  States  General 74 

Chapter  2.     Etienne  Marcel 77 

Chapter  3.     The  Man  of  the  Furred  Cap 83 

Chapter  4.     The  Serpent  Under  the  Grass 97 

Chapter  5.     Charles  the  Wicked 105 

Chapter  6.     The  Meeting  at  the  Cordeliers 118 

Chapter  7.     Popular  Justice 126 

Chapter  8.     "The  Hour  Has  Sounded !" 143 

Part  III.     The  Jacquerie. 

Chapter  1.  Captain  Griffith  and  His  Chaplain 154 

Chapter  2.  The  Fox's  Burrow 161 

Chapter  3.  The  Castle  of  Chivry 175 

Chapter  4.  Jacquerie !  Jacquerie ! 180 

Chapter  5.  The  Orville  Bridge 191 

Chapter  6.  "On  to  Clermont  I" 207 

Chapter  7.  Clermont 211 

Part  IV.     John  Maillart. 

Chapter  1.     The  Wages  of  Envy 228 

Chapter  2.     Last  Day  at  Home 239 

Chapter  3.     Darkening  Shadows 247 

Chapter  4.     Plotters  Uncovered 258 

Chapter  5.     The  Gate  of  St.  Antoine 267 

Epilogue 270 


PART    L 
THE  SEIGNIORY  OF  NOINTEL. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  TAVERN  OF  ALISON  THE  HUFFY. 

On  a  Sunday,  towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  October  of 
1356,  a  great  stir  was  noticeable  since  early  morning  in  the  little 
town  of  Nointel,  situated  a  few  leagues  from  the  city  of  Beau- 
vais,  in  the  department  of  Beauvoisis.  The  tavern  of  Alison  the 
Huffy — so  nicknamed  from  her  hot  temper,  although  she  was  a 
good  woman — was  rapidly  filling  with  artisans,  villeins  and  serfs 
who  came  to  wait  for  the  hour  of  mass  at  the  tavern,  where,  due 
to  the  prevailing  poverty,  little  was  drunk  and  much  talked. 
Alison  never  complained.  As  talkative  as  huffy,  dame  Alison 
preferred  to  see  her  tavern  full  with  chattterers  than  empty  of 
tipplers.  Still  fresh  and  buxom,  though  on  the  shady  side  of  thirty, 
she  wore  a  short  skirt  and  low  bodice — probably  because  her  bust 
was  well  rounded  and  her  limbs  well  shaped.  Black  of  hair, 
bright  of  eyes,  white  of  teeth,  and  quick  of  hands,  more  than 
once  since  her  widowhood,  had  Alison  broken  a  bumper  over  the 
head  of  some  customer,  whom  liquor  had  rendered  too  expressive 
in  his  admiration  for  her  charms.  Accordingly,  like  a  prudent 
housekeeper,  shehad  taken  the  precaution  of  replacing  her  earthen- 
ware bumpers  with  pewter  ones.  That  morning  the  dame  seemed 
to  be  in  a  particular  huffy  mood,  judging  by  her  rumpling  brows, 
her  brusque  motions,  and  her  sharp  and  cross  words. 

Presently,  the  door  of  the  tavern  was  darkened  and  in  step- 
ped a  man  of  vigorous  age,  with  an  angular  and  sun-burnt  face, 
whose  only  striking  features  were  two  little,  piercing,  crafty  and 
savage  eyes  half  hidden  under  his  eyebrows  thick  and  grizzly 
like  his  hair,  that  escaped  in  disorder  from  under  his  old  woolen 
cap.  He  had  traveled  a  long  distance ;  his  wooden  shoes,  shabby 
cloth  leggings  and  patched  smock-frock  were  covered  with  dust. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  n 

He  was  noticeably  tired ;  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  moved  his 
limbs  with  the  support  of  a  knotted  stick.  Hardly  inside  the 
tavern,  the  serf,  whose  name  was  William  Caillet,  let  himself 
down  heavily  upon  a  bench,  immediately  placing  his  elbows 
on  his  knees  and  his  head  upon  his  hands.  Alison  the  Huffy,  al- 
ready out  of  humor,  as  stated,  called  to  him  sharply: 

"What  do  you  want  here  ?  I  do  not  know  you.  If  you  want  to 
drink,  pay ;  if  not,  off  with  you !" 

"In  order  to  drink,  money  is  needed ;  I  have  none,"  answered 
William  Caillet;  "allow  me  to  rest  on  this  bench,  good  woman." 

"My  tavern  is  no  lazar-house,"  replied  Alison;  "be  gone,  you 
vagabond !" 

"Come  now,  hostess,  we  have  never  seen  you  in  such  a  bad 
humor,"  put  in  one  of  the  customers;  "let  the  poor  man  rest; 
we  invite  him  to  a  bumper." 

"Thank  you,"  answered  the  serf  with  a  somber  gesture  and 
shaking  his  head ;  "I'm  not  thirsty." 

"If  you  do  not  drink  you  have  no  business  here,"  the  buxom 
tavern-keeper  was  saying  when  a  voice,  hailing  from  without, 
called :  "Where  is  the  hostess  .  .  .  where  is  she  ...  a  thou- 
sand bundles  of  demons !  Is  there  no  one  here  to  take  my  horse  ? 
Our  throats  are  dry  and  our  tongues  hanging  out.  Ho,  there, 
hostess,  attend  to  us !" 

The  arrival  of  a  rider,  always  a  good  omen  for  a  hostlery,  drew 
Alison  away  from  her  anger.  She  called  her  maid  servant  while 
herself  ran  to  the  door  to  answer  the  impatient  traveler,  who,  his 
horse's  bridle  in  hand,  continued  finding  fault,  although  good- 
naturedly.  The  new  arrival  was  about  twenty-four  years  of  age ; 
the  visor  of  his  somewhat  rusty  casque,  wholly  raised,  exposed  to 
view  a  pleasant  face,  the  left  cheek  of  which  was  furrowed  with  a 
deep  scar.  Thanks  to  his  Herculean  build,  his  heavy  cuirass  of 
tarnished  iron,  but  still  usable,  seemed  not  to  press  him  any 
more  than  a  coat  of  cloth.  His  coat  of  mail,  newly  patched  in 
several  places,  fell  half  over  his  thigh-armor,  made,  like  his 


12  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

greaves,  of  iron,  the  latter  of  which  were  hidden  within  the  large 
traveling  boots.  From  his  shoulder-strap  hung  a  long  sword, 
from  his  belt  a  sharp  dagger  of  the  class  called  "mercy".  His 
mace,  which  consisted  of  a  thick  cudgel  an  arm  long,  terminating 
in  three  little  iron  chains  riveted  to  a  ball  seven  or  eight  pounds 
heavy,  hung  from  the  pommel  of  the  rider's  saddle,  together  with 
his  steel-studded  and  ribbed  buckler.  Three  reserve  wooden  lance 
shafts,  tied  together,  and  the  points  of  which  rested  in  a  sort  of 
leather  bonnet,  adjusted  to  the  strap  of  one  of  his  stirrups,  were 
held  up  straight  along  the  saddle,  behind  which  a  sheepskin 
satchel  was  attached.  The  horse  was  large  and  vigorous.  Its 
head,  neck,  chest  and  part  of  its  crupper  were  protected  by  arj 
iron  caparison — a  heavy  armor  that  the  robust  animal  carried 
as  easily  as  its  master  wore  his. 

Eesponding  to  the  redoubled  calls  of  the  traveler,  Alison  th« 
Huffy  ran  out  with  her  maid  and  said  in  bitter-sweet  voice: 
"Here  I  am,  Sir.  Hein !  If  ever  you  are  canonized,  it  will  not  be, 
I  very  much  fear,  under  the  invocation  of  St.  Patience !" 

"By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope,  my  fair  hostess,  your  pretty  black 
eyes  and  pink  cheeks  could  never  be  seen  too  soon.  As  sure  as 
your  garter  could  serve  you  for  a  belt,  the  prettiest  girl  of  Paris, 
where  I  come  from,  could  not  be  compared  to  you.  By  Venus 
and  Cupid,  you  are  the  pearl  of  hostesses." 

"You  come  from  Paris,  Sir  Knight !"  said  Alison  with  joyful 
surprise,  being  at  once  nattered  by  the  compliments  of  the  travel- 
er, and  proud  of  having  a  guest  from  Paris,  the  great  city.  "You 
really  come  from  Paris?" 

"Yes,  truly.  But  tell  me,  am  I  rightly  informed  ?  Is  there  to 
be  a  passage  of  arms  to-day,  here  in  the  valley  of  Nointel  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir ;  you  arrive  in  time.  The  tourney  is  to  begin  soon ; 
right  after  mass." 

"Well,  then,  my  pretty  hostess,  while  I  take  my  horse  to  the 
stable  to  have  him  well  fed,  you  will  prepare  a  good  repast  for 
myself,  and,  to  the  end  that  it  may  taste  all  the  better,  you  will 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  13 

share  it  with  me  while  we  chat  together.  There  is  much  infor- 
mation that  I  need  from  you;"  and  raising  his  coat  of  mail  to 
enable  him  to  reach  his  leather  purse,  the  rider  took  from  it  a 
piece  of  silver.  Giving  it  to  Alison,  he  said  gaily :  "Here  is  pay- 
ment in  advance  for  my  score.  I  am  none  of  your  strollers,  so 
frequent  in  these  days,  who  pay  their  host  with  sword  thrusts 
and  by  plundering  his  house ;"  but  noticing  that  Alison  examined 
the  piece  before  putting  it  in  her  pocket,  he  added  laughing: 
"Accept  that  coin  as  I  did,  with  eyes  shut.  The  devil  take  it,  only 
King  John  and  his  minter  know  what  the  piece  is  worth,  and 
whether  it  contains  more  lead  than  it  does  silver !" 

"Oh,  Sir  Knight,  is  it  not  terrible  to  think  that  our  master, 
the  King,  is  an  inveterate  false-coiner?  What  times  these  are! 
We  are  borne  down  with  taxes,  and  we  never  know  the  value  of 
what  we  have !" 

"True.  But  I  wager,  my  pretty  hostess,  that  your  lover  is  in  no 
such  annoying  ignorance.  .  .  .  Come,  you  will  have  overcome 
your  modest  blushes  by  the  time  your  niaid  has  shown  me  the  way 
to  the  stable,  after  which  you  will  make  my  breakfast  ready.  But 
you  must  share  it  with  me ;  that's  understood." 

"As  you  please,  Sir  Knight,"  answered  Alison,  more  and  more 
charmed  with  the  jolly  temper  of  the  stranger.  Accordingly, 
she  hastened  to  busy  herself  with  the  preparations  for  the  meal, 
and  in  a  short  time  spread  upon  one  of  the  tables  of  the  tavern 
a  toothsome  dish  of  bacon  in  green  fennel,  flanked  with  fried 
eggs,  cheese  and  a  mug  of  foaming  beer. 

The  serf,  William  Caillet,  now  forgotten  by  the  hostess,  his 
forehead  resting  on  both  his  hands,  seemed  lost  to  what  went  on 
around  him,  and  kept  his  seat  on  a  bench  not  far  from  the  table 
at  which  presently  Alison  and  the  traveler  took  theirs.  Back 
from  the  stable,  the  latter  relieved  himself  of  his  casque,  dagger 
and  sword,  laying  them  down  near  to  himself,  and  proceeded  to 
do  honor  to  the  repast. 


14  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

"Sir  Knight,"  said  Alison,  "you  come  from  Paris  ?  What  fine 
stories  you  will  have  to  tell !" 

"Mercy,  pretty  hostess,  do  not  call  me  'Sir  Knight.'  I  be- 
long to  the  working  class,  not  the  nobility.  My  name  is  Jocelyn. 
My  father  is  a  book-seller,  and  I  am  a  champion*  as  my  battle- 
harness  attests  to  you ; — and  here  I  am  at  your  service." 

"Can  it  be !"  exclaimed  Alison,  joining  her  hands  in  glad  as- 
tonishment, "you  are  a  fighting  champion  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  not  yet  lost  a  single  case,  as  you  may  judge 
from  my  right  hand  not  yet  being  cut  off — a  penalty  reserved 
for  all  champions  who  are  vanquished  in  a  judicial  duel.  Although 
often  wounded,  I  have  at  least  always  rendered  a  Eoland  for 
my  adversary's  Oliver.  I  learned  in  Paris  that  there  was  to  be 
a  tourney  here  and  thinking  that,  as  usual,  it  would  be  followed 
or  preceded  by  some  judicial  combat,  where  I  might  represent  the 
appellant  or  the  appellee,  I  came  to  the  place  on  a  venture.  Now, 
then,  as  a  tavern-keeper,  you  are  surely  informed  thereon." 

"Oh,  Sir  champion !  It  is  heaven  that  sends  you.  There  will 
surely  be  need  of  you." 

"Heaven,  I  am  of  the  opinion,  mixes  but  little  in  my  concerns. 
Let  us  leave  Gog  and  Magog  to  settle  their  affairs  among  them- 
selves." 

"You  should  know  that,  unfortunately,  I  have  a  process.  I 
admit  that  I  am  in  great  trouble." 

"You,  my  pretty  hostess  ?" 

"It  is  now  three  months  ago  that  I  lent  twelve  florins  to 
Simon  the  Hirsute.  When  I  asked  him  for  the  money,  the  mean 
thief  denied  the  debt.  We  went  before  the  seneschal.  I  main- 
tained what  I  said;  Simon  maintained  his  side.  There  were  no 


*In  the  judicial  combats  of  the  Middle  Ages,  it  was  allowed  to  women, 
children  and  old  men,  except  in  cases  of  high  treason  or  of  parricide,  to 
appear  in  the  lists  by  a  representative.  Such  a  hired  combatant  was 
called  a  champion. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  15 

witnesses  either  for  or  against  us,  and  as  the  amount  involved 
was  above  five  sous,  the  seneschal  ordered  a  judicial  battle.  But 
who  would  take  my  part?" 

"And  you  have  found  nobody  to  be  your  champion  against 
Simon  the  Hirsute  ?" 

"Alas,  no !  By  reason  of  his  strength  and  his  wickedness  the 
fellow  is  feared  all  over  this  country.  No  one  would  venture  to 
fight  with  him." 

"Well,  my  pretty  hostess,  you  can  count  with  me.  I  shall  fight 
him  as  well  for  the  sake  of  your  pretty  eyes  as  for  the  sake  of 
your  cause." 

"Oh,  my  cause  is  good,  Sir  champion.  It  is  as  true  that  I  lent 
Simon  the  Hirsute  those  twelve  florins  as  ...  I'll  tell  you  how 
it  was — " 

"You  need  say  no  more.  A  pretty  mouth  like  yours  would  not 
fib.  Moreover,  I'm  in  the  habit  of  placing  confidence  in  what  my 
clients  tell  me.  What  is  wanted  is,  not  solid  reasons,  but  rude 
blows  with  the  sword,  the  lance  or  the  mace.  Thus,  so  long  as 
this  right  fist  is  not  cut  off,  it  will  offer  arguments  more  con- 
clusive than  the  sublest  ones  of  the  most  famous  jurists." 

"I  must  not  conceal  from  you  the  fact  that  that  thief  of  a 
Simon  has  been  an  archer.  He  is  a  dangerous  man.  Everybody 
is  afraid  of  him." 

"Pretty  hostess,  there  is  another  custom  I  have  when  I  am  to 
plead  a  case.  I  never  inquire  how  my  adversary  fights.  In  that 
way  I  never  form  in  advance  a  plan  of  attack,  frequently  frus- 
trated in  practice.  I  have  a  quick  and  correct  eye.  Once  on 
the  arena,  I  size  up  my  man,  fall  to,  and  decide  on  the  spot 
whether  to  thrust  or  to  cut.  I  have  ever  congratulated  myself 
on  this  manner  of  pleading.  You  may  rely  upon  me.  The  tour- 
ney does  not  open  till  noon ;  my  arms  are  in  good  condition  and 
my  horse  is  eating  his  provender.  Let's  drink  a  glass :  Long  live 
joy,  my  pretty  hostess !  and  good  luck  to  the  good  cause  !'J 

"Oh,  helpful  champion !  If  you  gain  my  process  I  shall  give 


16  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

you  three  florins.  It  would  not  be  paying  too  much  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  scamp  of  a  Simon  the  Hirsute  brought  to 
grief!" 

"Agreed !  If  I  gain  your  process  you  will  give  me  three  florins 
and  a  smacking  kiss  for  good  measure,  if  you  like!  .    .    . 
Agreed?" 

"Oh,  Sir,  such  things  are  not  said." 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  give  you  the  smacking  kiss,  seeing  the 
other  plan  embarrasses  you.  But  by  all  the  devils,  your  fore- 
head remains  troubled.  Why  so?  You  needed  a  champion,  and 
heaven — as  you  said — sends  you  one  who  is  impatient  to  sail 
into  the  thief,  and  yet  your  pretty  forehead  keeps  its  wrinkles !" 

"I  should  be  satisfied,  and  yet  my  heart  is  heavy.  I  want  to 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

"Have  you,  perchance,  some  other  process,  or  some  unfaithful 
lover?  You  may  speak  freely  to  me." 

Alison  remained  for  a  moment  sad  and  silent,  whereupon  she 
resumed  with  painful  voice. 

"Sir  champion,  you  come  from  Paris;  you  must  be  very 
learned.  Perhaps  you  may  render  a  service  to  a  poor  lad  who 
is  much  to  be  pitied,  and  who  also  must  himself  do  battle  to-day 
in  a  judicial  duel,  but  under  very  sad  circumstances." 

"Explain  yourself.    What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"In  this  country  of  Nointel,  when  a  female  serf  or  bourgeois 
marries,  the  seigneur,  if  it  please  him,  is  entitled  to  ...  the 
first  night  of  his  female  vassal.  They  call  it  the  'right  of  first 
fruits/  ...  At  least  do  not  laugh !" 

"Laugh!  Not  by  the  devil!"  answered  Jocelyn,  whose  face 
suddenly  overspread  with  somberness.  "Oh,  you  recall  to  my 
mind  a  melancholy  affair.  A  short  while  ago  I  had  to  plead  a 
case  on  the  arena  near  Amiens.  Crossing  a  village,  I  saw  a 
gathering  of  serfs.  Upon  inquiry  I  learned  that  one  of  the 
peasants  of  the  group,  a  butcher  attached  to  the  fief  of  the 
bishopric,  had  married  that  very  morning  a  handsome  girl  of 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  17 

the  parish.  The  bishop,  in  the  exercise  of  his  right,  sent  for 
the  bride  to  take  her  to  his  bed.  The  serf  answered  the  episco- 
pal bailiff,  charged  with  the  mission :  'My  wife  is  in  my  hut,  I 
shall  bring  her  out  to  you' ;  and  coming  back  a  few  instants  later 
said  to  him:  'My  wife  is  a  little  bashful,  she  does  not  like  to 
come  out,  go  in  and  bring  her  out  yourself.*  The  bailiff  went 
into  the  hut,  and  what  does  he  find?  The  unhappy  girl  lying 
in  a  pool  of  blood ;  she  was  dead." 

"Good  God !    What  a  shocking  story !" 

"In  order  to  ransom  her  from  dishonor,  her  husband  had 
killed  her  with  a  blow  of  his  axe." 

At  these  words,  William  Caillet,  who  until  then  had  remained 
indifferent  to  the  conversation  between  Alison  and  Jocelyn, 
shook  convulsively,  raised  his  savage  face  and  listened,  while, 
tears  streaming  from  her  eyes,  Alison  cried :  "Oh,  poor  woman ! 
To  be  thus  killed !  What  a  terrible  resolution  must  not  have 
seized  her  husband  to  resort  to  such  a  frightful  extreme !" 

"Resolute  men  are  rare." 

"Alas,  Sis  champion.  Those  who,  degraded  by  serfdom,  re- 
main indifferent  to  such  ignominy  are  perhaps  less  to  be  pitied 
than  those  who  resent  it." 

"But  most  of  them  do  resent  it,"  cried  Jocelyn.  "In  vain  do 
the  seigneurs  seek  to  reduce  these  ill-starred  beings  to  the  state 
of  brutes.  Are  not  even  among  wild  beasts  the  males  seen  to 
defend  their  females  unto  death?  Does  not  man,  however 
coarse,  however  brutified,  however  craven  he  may  be,  fire  up 
with  jealousy  the  moment  he  loves?  Is  not  love  the  only  pos- 
session left  to  the  serfs,  the  only  solace  in  their  misery  ?  Blood 
and  death !  I  grow  savage  at  the  mere  thought  of  the  rage  and 
despair  of  a  serf  at  the  sight  of  the  humble  companion  of  his 
cheerless  days  sullied  forever  by  a  seigneur!  By  the  navel  of 
Satan,  by  the  horns  of  Moses,  the  thought  of  it  exasperates  me !" 

"Oh,  Sir,"  said  Alison  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "your  word* 


18  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

tell  the  story  of  that  poor  Mazurec,  the  young  man  I  was  about 
to  tell  you  of." 

William  Caillet  again  shook  convulsively  at  the  sound  of  the 
name  of  Mazurec,  and  leaped  up,  but  controlling  himself  by 
dint  of  a  violent  effort,  he  resumed  his  seat,  and  lent  increased 
attention  to  what  was  said  by  Alison  and  Jocelyn,  who  himself 
seemed  greatly  struck  by  the  name  of  Mazurec,  that  his  hostess 
had  just  pronounced. 

"The  serfs  name  is  Mazurec?"  he  inquired,  visibly  affected. 

"Yes,  Sir.    Why  does  the  name  surprise  you  ?" 

"It  is  one  of  my  own  father's  given  names.  Do  you  know  the 
age  of  the  young  fellow?" 

"He  can  be  no  more  than  twenty  years;  his  mother,  who  has 
long  been  dead,  was  not  of  this  neighborhood." 

"Whence  came  she?" 

"I  could  not  tell  you  that.  She  arrived  here  shortly  before 
the  birth  of  Mazurec.  She  begged  her  bread.  Our  neighbor 
the  miller  of  the  Gallion  mill,  took  pity  upon  her.  His  own  wife 
had  died  in  childbed  about  two  months  before.  The  name  of 
Mazurec's  mother  was  Gervaise." 

"Gervaise?"  repeated  Jocelyn,  seeming  to  interrogate  his 
memory,  "was  her  name  Gervaise  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir  champion.  She  was  so  pleasing  and  sweet  to  the 
eyes  of  the  miller  that  he  said  to  himself:  'She  must  soon  be 
brought  to  bed;  if  she  is  willing,  she  shall  be  nurse  to  both  my 
child  and  her  own.'  And  so  it  was.  Gervaise  brought  up  the 
two  boys.  She  was  so  industrious  and  of  so  good  a  character 
that  the  miller  kept  her  as  a  servant.  Then  a  misfortune  hap- 
pened. The  Count  of  Beaumont  declared  war  to  the  Sire  of 
Nointel.  That  is  now  five  years  ago.  The  miller  was  compelled 
to  follow  his  seigneur  to  war.  During  that  time  the  men  of 
Beaumont  raided  the  place,  burning  and  sacking.  They  set  fire 
to  the  mill  where  Gervaise  was  left  with  the  two  children.  She 
perished  in  the  flames,  together  with  the  miller's  child.  Mazurec 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  19 

alone  escaped  miraculously.  Out  of  pity  my  husband  and  I 
took  him  in." 

"You  are  a  worthy  woman,  my  hostess.  I  shall  have  to  cut 
the  throat  of  Simon  the  Hirsute." 

"Do  not  praise  me  too  much,  Sir  champion.  The  hardest 
heart  would  have  taken  an  interest  in  Mazurec.  He  was  the 
sweetest  and  best  child  in  the  world.  His  goodness  and  mildness 
won  for  him  the  name  of  Mazurec  the  Lambkin." 

"And  did  he  make  good  the  promise  of  his  name  ?" 

"He  was  a  real  lamb.  All  night  long  he  cried  for  his  mother 
and  his  foster  brother.  By  day  he  helped  us,  according  to  his 
strength,  in  whatever  work  we  had  in  hand.  When  the  war 
closed  our  neighbor  the  miller  did  not  come  back.  He  had  been 
killed.  The  Sire  of  Nointel  had  the  burnt-down  mill  rebuilt. 
God  only  knows  what  taxes  he  imposed  upon  us,  his  vassals,  to 
indemnify  himself  for  the  expenses  of  his  campaign  against 
the  seigneur  of  Beaumont.  Mazurec  took  service  under  the 
new  miller.  Every  Sunday,  on  his  way  to  church,  Mazurec  stop- 
ped here  to  thank  us  for  our  kindness  towards  him."  There 
is  no  more  grateful  heart  than  his.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  how 
his  misfortune  came  about.  Occasionally  he  was  sent  by  the 
miller  with  bags  of  flour  to  the  village  of  Cramoisy,  about  three 
leagues  from  here,  where  the  Sire  of  Nointel  has  established  a 
fortified  post.  In  that  village — poor  Mazurec  has  made  me  his 
confidante — he  often  saw,  seated  at  the  door  of  her  hut,  a  beau- 
tiful young  girl,  spinning  at  her  wheel ;  other  times  he  met  her 
pasturing  her  cow  along  the  green  borders  of  the  road.  This 
young  girl  was  known  as  Aveline-who-never-lied.  She  had  a 
heart  of  gold." 

"And  these  two  folks  loved  each  other?" 

"Indeed!  They  loved  each  other  passionately.  And  they 
were  well  matched." 

William  Caillet  listened  to  Alison's  narrative  with  redoubled 
attention.  Unable  to  keep  back  a  tear  that  rolled  down  his 


20  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

emaciated  cheeks,  he  wiped  it  off  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  The 
tavern-keeper  proceeded : 

"Mazurec  was  a  serf  of  the  same  seigniory  with  Aveline  and 
her  father.  The  latter  consented  to  the  marriage.  The  bailiff 
of  the  Sire  of  Nointel  in  the  absence  of  his  master,  also  gave 
his  consent.  Everything  was  moving  smoothly  along,  and  often 
did  Mazurec  say  to  me:  'Dame  Alison,  what  a  pity  that  1*15 
mother  cannot  witness  our  happiness !' " 

"But  how  came  these  happy  hopes  to  be  destroyed,  my  pretty 
hostess  ?" 

"You  know,  Sir,  that,  if  the  seigneur  is  willing,  the  vassals 
can  ransom  themselves  of  the  infamous  right  that  we  spoke  of 
a  few  minutes  ago.  So  did  my  deceased  husband,  without  which 
I  would  have  remained  single  all  my  life.  Aveline's  father  had 
a  cow  for  only  earthly  possession.  He  sold  that,  preferring  to 
forfeit  the  animal  that  furnished  him  with  food,  rather  than 
to  see  his  adored  daughter  dishonored  by  the  Sire  of  Nointel. 
The  day  of  the  bethrothal  Mazurec  went  to  the  castle  to  de- 
liver to  the  bailiff  the  price  of  the  bride's  redemption.  Un- 
fortunately, the  bailiff  happened  to  be  away.  The  bridegroom 
returned  to  Aveline,  and  her  father  decided  that  they  should 
be  married  the  next  morning,  and  that  immediately  after  the 
mass  Mazurec  should  return  to  the  castle  to  ransom  his  wife. 
The  marriage  took  place,  and,  according  to  custom,  the  bride 
remained  locked  up  at  the  vicarage  until  the  husband  could  show 
his  letter  of  redemption." 

"Yes/'  observed  Jocelyn.  "And  it  therefore  often  happens 
that,  to  escape  the  disgrace,  brides  yield  themselves  to  their  in- 
tended husbands  before  marriage.  No  more  than  just,  under  the 
circumstances." 

"But  too  true;  and  often  also  the  men  thereupon  leave  the 
poor  girl  and  do  not  marry  her.  But  neither  Mazurec  nor 
Aveline  entertained  such  evil  thoughts.  In  possession  of  the 
needed  sum  for  the  ransom,  he  only  asked  to  acquit  himself 
honestly.  After  the  mass,  Mazurec  returned  to  the  castle,  carry- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  21 

ing  the  money  in  a  purse  suspended  from  his  belt.  On  the 
road  he  met  a  knight  who  inquired  for  the  way  to  Nointel; 
and,  would  you  believe  it,  Sir?  while  Mazurec  was  giving  him 
the  directions,  the  scamp  of  a  knight  stooped  down  in  the  saddle 
as  if  to  adjust  the  strap  of  his  stirrup,  snatched  the  purse  from 
poor  Mazurec,  and,  spurring  his  horse,  galloped  off." 

"There  are  hundreds  of  such  thefts  committed.  The  knights 
look  upon  them  as  mere  feats  of  knighthood.  But  they  are  in- 
famous acts !" 

"Mazurec,  left  behind  distracted,  vainly  ran  after  the  thief. 
He  lost  sight  of  him.  An  hour  later  he  arrived  breathless  at 
the  castle,  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  bailiff,  told  him  of  his 
mishap,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  demanded  justice  against 
the  thief.  The  Sire  of  Nointel,  who  had  arrived  at  his  manor 
that  very  morning  from  Paris,  accompanied  by  several  friends, 
happened  to  cross  the  corridor  at  the  very  time  that  Mazurec 
was  imploring  the  bailiff's  help.  The  Sire  of  Nointel,  informed 
of  the  occurence,  asked,  laughing,  whether  the  bride  was  pretty. 
'There  is  none  prettier  in  your  domain,  Sire',  answered  the  bailiff. 
Suddenly,  his  eyes  falling  upon  one  of  the  knights  of  the  Sire's 
suite,  Mazurec  cried:  'It  is  he  who  robbed  me  of  my  purse, 
only  an  hour  ago!'  'Miserable  serf,  thundered  the  seigneur, 
'dare  you  charge  one  of  my  guests  with  robbery  ?  You  lie !'  " 

"Without  a  doubt  the  thievish  knight  denied  the  robbery/' 

"Yes,  Sir,  and  Mazurec,  on  his  side,  still  insisted.  There- 
upon, after  a  whispered  conversation  with  the  bailiff  and  the 
knight  who  was  accused  of  the  robbery,  the  Sire  of  Nointel  gave 
this  decision:  'One  of  my  equerries,  escorted  by  several  men- 
at-arms,  shall  forthwith  proceed  to  the  vicarage  and  conduct 
the  bride  here.  According  to  my  right,  I  shall  spend  the  night 
with  her.  To-morrow  morning  she  may  be  returned  to  that 
vassal.  As  to  the  charge  of  robbery,  that  he  has  the  effrontery 
to  prefer  against  a  noble  knight,  the  knight  demands  the  trial 
of  arma,  and  if,  although  defeated,  this  vile  varlet  survives  the 


22  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

battle,  he  shall  be  tied  up  in  a  bag  and  cast  into  the  river 
as  the  defamer  of  a  knight.  Let  justice  take  its  course.'  r 

"Oh !"  cried  Jocelyn,  "the  unhappy  lad  is  lost.  The  knight 
is  the  appellant,  as  such  he  has  the  right  to  fight  on  horseback 
and  in  full  armor,  against  the  serf  in  a  smock-frock  and  with  a 
stick  for  only  weapon." 

"Alas,  Sir !  As  you  see  I  had  good  reasons  for  being  heavy  at 
heart.  Poor  Mazurec  thought  less  on  the  battle  than  on  his 
bride.  He  threw  himself  sobbing  at  the  feet  of  his  seigneur, 
and  beseeched  him  not  to  dishonor  Aveline.  And  do  you  know 
what  answer  the  Sire  of  Nointel  made  to  him?  'Jacque  Bon- 
homme  * — that's  the  title  of  derision  that  the  nobles  give  their 
serfs — Macque  Bonhomme,  my  friend,  I  have  two  reasons  for 
spending  this  night  with  your  wife:  first,  because,  as  they  say. 
she  is  quite  comely ;  and  second,  because  that  will  be  the  punish- 
ment for  your  insolence  to  charge  one  of  my  guests  with  larceny.' 
At  these  words  Mazurec  the  Lambkin  became  Mazurec  the  Wolf. 
He  threw  himself  furiously  upon  his  seigneur,  meaning  to 
strangle  him.  But  the  knights  who  stood  by  felled  the  poor 
serf  to  the  floor,  pinioned  him  and  thrust  him  into  a  dungeon. 
Can  anything  exceed  such  cruelty  ?  Add  to  that  that  the  Sire  of 
Nointel  is  himself  betrothed  to  be  married ;  his  bride,  the  noble 
damo?el  Gloriande  of  Chivry,  is  to  be  the  queen  of  the  tourney 
about  to  take  place." 

"Shame !"  cried  Jocelyn,  his  cheeks  aflame  with  indignation, 
and  furiously  striking  the  table  with  his  Herculean  fist.  "An  end 
must  be  put  to  these  horrors !  They  cry  for  vengeance !  They 
cry  for  blood !" 

"Oh  !  There  will  be  blood !"  whispered  a  hollow  voice  in  the 
ear  of  Jocelyn.  "Floods  of  blood !  The  torch  and  the  axe  will 
do  their  office";  and  feeling  a  strange  hand  pressing  on  his 

*  Jack  Drudge. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  23 

shoulder,  the  champion  turned  quickly  around.  Before  him 
stood  William  Caillet. 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  the  young  man,  struck  by  the 
sinister  and  desperate  looks  of  the  peasant.  "What  do  you  want 
of  me  ?  Who  are  you  ?" 

"I  am  the  father  of  Mazurec's  wife." 

"You,  poor  man  ?"  cried  the  hostess  with  pity.  "Oh !  I  re- 
gret to  have  been  rude  to  you.  Pardon  me,  poor  father.  Alaa, 
what  have  you  come  here  for  ?" 

"For  my  daughter,"  answered  William ;  and  he  added  with  a 
frightful  smile:  "She  will  be  now  returned  to  me;  the  night 
is  over;  the  infamous  dues  are  paid." 

"My  God!  My  God!"  rejoined  Alison,  unable  to  repress  her 
tears.  "And  when  we  think  that  poor  Mazurec  is  a  prisoner 
at  the  castle,  and  that  this  morning,  before  mass,  he  is  to  make 
the  'amende  honorable'  on  his  knees  before  the  Sire  of  Noin- 
tel— " 

"He!  Is  he  to  be  subjected  to  that  further  indignity?"  cried 
Jocelyn,  interrupting  his  hostess.  "And  what  is  he  to  apologize 
for?" 

"Alas,  Sir  champion!"  answered  Alison,  "I  have  not  yet 
told  you  the  end  of  the  adventure.  While  Mazurec  was  being 
taken  to  prison,  the  bailiff  went  for  Aveline  at  the  vicarage  and 
brought  her  to  the  castle.  She  resisted  her  seigneur  with  all 
her  strength.  He  then  laughed  in  her  face  and  said:  'Ho! 
you  resist  me!  Very  well.  I  shall  now  have  the  pleasure  of 
exercising  my  right  by  judicial  decree.  It  will  be  a  good  lesson 
to  Jacques  Bonhomme/  He  thereupon  had  the  bride  taken  to  a 
cell,  and  lodged  a  complaint  against  her  in  the  court  of  the 
seneschal  at  Beauvais.  Seeing  that  the  law  recognizes  the  right 
of  a  seigneur  over  his  female  vassals,  the  court  gave  its  decree 
accordingly.  It  is  in  the  name  of  justice  that  the  wretched 
Aveline  was  violated  last  night  by  our  seigneur;  it  is  in  the 
name  of  justice  that  Mazurec  is  sentenced  to  beg  the  pardon 
of  his  seigneur  for  having  intended  to  oppose  him  in  the  ex- 


24  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

ercise  of  his  seigniorial  right ;  it  is  in  the  name  of  justice  that, 
after  this  public  expiation,  Mazurec  is  to  fight  the  thief  of  a 
knight." 

"Aye,"  put  in  William  Caillet,  clenching  his  fists;  "Mazurec 
is  to  fight  on  foot  and  armed  with  a  stick  against  his  robber, 
covered  with  iron  .  .  .  Mazurec  will  be  vanquished  and  kill- 
ed, or,  if  he  survive,  will  be  drowned.  I  shall  try  to  fish  out 
his  body  and  bury  him  in  some  hole  .  .  .  Then  I  shall 
take  away  my  daughter  .  .  .  She  is  to  be  returned  to  me 
this  morning,  and  who  knows  but  in  nine  months  I  may  be  the 
grandfather  of  a  noble  brat!"  After  a  short  pause  the  peasant 
resumed  with  a  sinister  and  chilling  smile :  "Oh !  If  that  child 
should  live  .  .  .  if  it  should  live  .  .  .  But  he  did 
not  finish  his  sentence.  For  a  moment  he  remained  silent; 
then,  laying  his  horny  right  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  Jocelyn, 
he  approached  the  young  man's  ear  and  added  in  a  low  voice: 
"Shortly  ago  you  said  an  end  must  be  put  to  these  horrors,  they 
call  for  blood !" 

"Yes,  and  I  say  so  again.  These  horrors  cry  for  vengeance! 
They  cry  for  the  death  and  destruction  of  our  oppressors !" 

"He  who  says  that  aloud  is  a  man  who  will  act,"  replied  the 
serf  fastening  his  small,  savage  and  piercing  eyes  upon  the  cham- 
pion. "If  the  time  for  action  arrives,  remember  William  Caillet 
.  .  .  of  the  village  of  Cramoisy,  near  Clermont/' 

"I  shall  not  forget  your  name,"  Jocelyn  returned  in  a  low 
voice  to  Caillet,  and  clasped  his  hand.  "The  hour  of  justice 
and  vengeance  may  sound  sooner  than  you  think,  especially  if 
there  are  many  serfs  like  you !" 

"There  are,"  rejoined  the  peasant  in  the  same  low  voice. 
"Jacque  Bonhomme  is  on  his  feet.  We  are  preparing  a  general 
uprising." 

"It  was  to  assure  myself  regarding  that  that  I  rode  into  this 
region,"  whispered  Jocelyn  in  the  ear  of  Caillet,  without  being 
heard  by  Alison.  "Silence  and  courage !  The  day  of  reprisal 
is  at  hand." 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  25 

More  and  more  agreeably  surprised  at  meeting  in  Jocelyn  an 
unexpected  ally,  the  peasant  did  not  remove  his  penetrating  eyes 
from  the  young  man.  Habituated  by  servitude  to  mistrust,  he 
feared  to  be  deceived  by  the  promises  of  an  unknown  person. 
Suddenly  the  chimes  of  the  church  of  Nointel  fell  upon  their 
ears.  Alison  shivered.  "Oh!"  said  she,  "I  shall  not  have  the 
courage  to  witness  the  ceremony !" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Jocelyn,  while  the  men  who  had 
gathered  in  the  tavern  trooped  out  precipitately,  saying:  "Let 
us  hasten  to  the  parvise  of  the  church  .  .  .  One  should  see 
everything  there  is  to  be  seen  .  .  . 

"They  are  going  to  witness  the  'amende  honorable'  of  poor 
Mazurec,"  answered  Alison. 

"I  shall  have  more  courage  than  you,  my  good  hostess,"  said 
Jocelyn  taking  up  his  sword  and  casque,  and  looking  for  William 
Caillet,  who,  however,  had  disappeared.  "I  shall  witness  that 
sad  ceremony  because,  for  more  reasons  than  one,  the  fate  of 
Mazurec  interests  me.  The  tourney  will  not  begin  until  after 
mass;  I  shall  have  time  to  return  for  my  horse  so  as  to  have 
myself  forthwith  entered  by  the  judge-at-arms  as  your  defender 
against  Simon  the  Hirsute." 

"My  God,  Sir !  Is  there,  then,  no  way  to  prevent  the  judicial 
duel  of  poor  Mazurec  ?  ...  It  means  death  to  him !" 

"If  he  declines  the  battle  he  will  be  drowned;  such  is  the 
law  of  our  feudal  lords.  But  I  hope  I  may  be  able  to  give 
Mazurec  some  good  advice.  I  shall  try  and  speak  to  him. 
Wait  for  me  here,  my  pretty  hostess,  and  do  not  lose  hope." 

Saying  this,  Jocelyn  wended  his  steps  towards  the  parvise  of 
the  church. 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  "AMENDE  HONORABLE". 

The  church  of  Nointel  rose  at  one  end  of  a  spacious  square, 
into  which  two  tortuous  streets  ran  out.  The  houses,  most  of 
which  were  contructed  of  wood,  sculptured  with  no  little  art, 
were  topped  with  slated  roofs,  pointed  and  deeply  inclined.  Some 
of  these  domiciles  were  ornamented  with  balconies,  where  on  this 
morning  numerous  spectators  stood  crowded.  Thanks  to  his 
athletic  physique,  Jocelyn  succeeded  without  much  trouble  to 
reach  the  edge  of  the  parvise,  where,  among  a  number  of  knights, 
stood  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  a  tall  young  man  of  haughty  and  scof- 
fing mien,  whose  reddish  blonde  hair  was  curled  like  a  woman's. 
He  wore,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  a  richly  em- 
broidered short  velvet  tunic,  and  silk  hose  of  two  different  colors. 
The  left  side  of  his  clothing  was  red,  the  other  yellow.  His 
shoes,  made  of  tender  cordwain,  tapered  upward  like  a  gilded 
ram's  horn.  From  his  half  red,  half  yellow  velvet  bonnet,  or- 
namented with  a  chain  of  precious  stones,  waved  a  tuft  of  os- 
trich feathers — altogether  a  head-gear  of  exorbitant  value.  The 
friends  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel  were,  like  himself,  dressed  in  parti- 
colored garb.  Behind  this  brilliant  company,  stood  the  pages 
and  equerries  of  the  seigneur  carrying  his  colors.  One  of  them 
held  his  banner,  emblazoned  with  three  eagle's  talons  on  a  red 
background.  At  the  sight  of  that  device,  the  designation  of  the 
house  of  Neroweg,  the  hereditary  enemy  of  his  own  family,  Joce- 
lyn shuddered,  astonishment  seized  him,  he  became  profoundly 
pensive.  The  rasping  voice  of  a  royal  notary  drew  Jocelyn  from  his 
reverie.  Stepping  forward  to  the  front  of  the  parvise,  the  notary 
three  times  called  for  silence,  and  then,  amidst  the  profound 
stillness  of  the  crowd,  he  proceeded  to  read : 


THE  IRON  TREVET  27 

"Whereas  the  charter  and  statute  on  the  right  of  first  fruits  vests 
in  the  seigneur  of  the  lands  and  seigniory  of  Nointel,  Loury,  Berte- 
ville,  Cramoisy,  Saint-Leu  and  other  places  the  privilege  of  demanding 
the  first  wedded  day  of  all  the  maids  ivho  are  not  noble,  and  who  shall 
marry  in  said  seigniory,  after  which  the  said  seigneur  shall  no  longer 
touch  the  said  married  woman,  and  shall  leave  her  to  her  husband ; 

"And  whereas,  on  the  eleventh  day  of  this  month,  Aveline-who-never- 
lied,  a  female  serf  of  the  parish  of  Cramoisy,  was  maried  to  Mazurec 
the  Lambkin,  a  miller  serf  at  the  Gallion  mill ; 

"And  whereas,  our  young,  high,  noble  and  puissant  seigneur,  Conrad 
Neroweg,  knight  and  seigneur  of  the  said  seigniory  herein  above  men- 
tioned, having  wished  to  exercise  his  right  of  first  fruits  on  the  said 
Aveline-who-never-lied,  and  the  said  Mazurec  the  Lambkin,  her  husband, 
having  sought  to  oppose  himself  thereto  by  using  unseemly  words  to- 
wards the  said  seigneur,  and  the  said  married  woman  having  been  re- 
quired to  submit  to  the  said  right  and  having  obstinately  refused,  the 
said  seigneur,  by  reason  of  the  disobedience  of  the  said  married  couple 
and  their  unseemly  words,  caused  them  both  to  be  separately  imprisoned 
and  filed  a  criminal  bill  with  his  worship  the  seneschal  of  Beauvoisis 
notifying  him  of  the  above  occurrences ; 

"And  whereas,  an  inquest  was  made  in  writing  and  by  the  summoning 
of  witnesses  upon  the  ancient  right  and  custom  in  order  to  ascertain  and 
establish  that  the  said  seigneur  of  Nointel  has  the  said  right  to  the 
first  fruits ;  and  the  information  being  gathered  and  inquest  made,  a  sen- 
tence was  rendered  by  the  court  of  the  seneschal  of  Beauvisis,  as  fol- 
lows, word  by  word:" 

Clenching  his  fists  with  rage,  Jocelyn  observed  to  himself :  "Can 
law,  can  justice  consecrate  such  infamy!  To  what  human  power 
can  these  wretched  vassals  appeal  in  their  despair  ?  Oh,  the  mar- 
tyrs of  so  many  centuries  can  not  fail  to  demand  heavy  reprisals !" 

The  royal  notary  proceeded  to  read : 

"The  case  ofc^the  young,  high,  noble  and  puissant  Conrad  Nero- 
weg, seignetfr"t>f  Nointel  and  other  seigniories,  reclaimer  of  the  right 
of  first  fruits  upon  all  maids,  not  noble,  who  marry  in  the  said  seigniory, 
the  party  of  the  one  part,  and  Aveline-who-never-lied,  recently  married 
to  Mazurec  the  Lambkin,  refuser  of  the  said  right,  the  party  of  the 
other  part ;  and  the  said  seigneur  of  Nointel,  also  claimant  in  reparation 
and  chastisement  for  the  unseemly  words  pronounced  by  the  said  Mazu- 
rec the  Lambkin.  The  court  of  the  seneschal  of  Beauvoisis,  in  view  cf 
the  criminal  charges  of  the  said  seigneur  and  the  information  and  in- 
quests taken,  rendering  justice  to  the  parties  concerned,  says  and  declares 
that  the  said  seigneur  is  ivell  grounded  in  law  and  in  reason  in  claiming 
the  first  fruits  from  all  maids,  not  noble,  married  in  his  seigniory;  and 
by  reason  of  that  which  is  declared  herein  above,  the  said  court  has 


28  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

sentenced  and  now  condemns  the  said  Aveline-who-never-lied  and  the 
said  Mazurec  the  Lambin  to  render  obedience  to  the  said  seigneur  in 
what  concerns  his  right  of  the  first  fruits;  and  concerning  the  unseemly 
words  that  the  said  Mazurec  the  Lambkin  pronounced  against  his 
seigneur,  the  said  court  has  sentenced  and  now  sentences  him  to  apol- 
ogize to  said  seigneur  and,  -with  one  knee  on  the  ground,  his  head  bare, 
and  his  hands  crossed  over  his  brfast,  to  pray  his  mercy  in  the  presence 
of  all  who  were  assembled  at  his  wedding.  And,  furthermore,  the 
said  court  orders  that  the  present  sentence  shall  be  announced  by  a  royal 
notary  or  beadle  in  front  of  the  church  of  the  said  seigniory." 

The  decree,  which  confirmed  and  consecrated  through  the  or- 
gans of  law  and  justice  the  most  execrable  of  all  the  feudal  laws, 
produced  different  emotions  in  the  surrounding  crowd.  Some, 
stupefied  with  terror,  misery  and  ignorance,  cowardly  resigned  to 
a  disgrace  that  their  fathers  had  been  subjected  to  and  was  re- 
served for  their  own  children,  seemd  amazed  at  the  resistance 
that  Mazurec  had  offered ;  others,  who,  due  to  a  sentiment,  if  not 
of  love,  yet  of  dignity,  prized  themselves  happy  that,  thanks 
to  their  money,  the  ugliness  of  their  wives,  or  the  accidental  ab- 
sence of  the  seigneur,  they  had  been  able  to  escape  the  ignominy, 
imagined  themselves  in  the  place  of  the  condemned  man  and  were 
somewhat  moved  with  pity  for  him;  finally,  the  larger  number, 
married  or  not,  serfs,  villeins  or  townsmen,  felt  violent  indigna- 
tion, hardly  repressed  by  fear.  Hollow  murmurs  ran  through  the 
crowd  at  the  last  words  of  the  notary.  But  all  these  sentiments 
soon  made  place  for  those  of  anguish  and  compassion  when,  led 
by  the  seigneur's  men-at-arms,  the  condemned  man  appeared  at 
the  portico  of  the  church.  Mazurec  was  about  twenty  years  of 
age,  and  the  benignity  of  his  face  and  the  mildness  of  his  nature 
had  earned  him  the  name  of  Lambkin.  On  that  day,  however,  he 
seemed  transfigured  by  misfortune  and  despair.  His  physiog- 
nomy was  savage  and  pinched,  his  clothes  in  tatters,  his  face  livid, 
his  eyes  fixed  and  red  with  tears  and  sleeplessness,  his  hair  tum- 
bling— all  imparted  to  him  a  frightful  appearance.  Two  men-at- 
arms  unbound  the  prisoner,  and  pressing  heavily  upon  his  should- 
ers forced  him  to  drop  upon  his  knees  before  the  Sire  of  Nointel, 
who  together  with  his  friends,  laughed  outright  at  the  abject  sub- 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  39 

mission  of  Jacques  Bonhomme.    Presently  the  royal  notary  said 
in  a  loud  voice : 

"The  reparation  and  amende  honorable  of  the  condemned  man 
to  his  seigneur  must  have  for  witness  those  who  assisted  at  the 
marriage  of  Mazurec.  Let  them  come  forward." 

At  these  words,  Jocelyn  the  Champion  saw  William  Caillet  and 
another  robust  serf,  called  Adam  the  Devil,  step  from  the  front 
ranks  of  the  crowd.  To  judge  by  the  perspiration  that  bathed 
his  bony  and  tired  face,  the  latter  had  just  run  a  long  distance. 
Struck,  at  first,  by  the  determined  mien  of  Adam  the  Devil,  Jo- 
celyn saw  him,  as  well  as  his  friend  William  Caillet,  suddenly 
metamorphose  himself,  so  to  speak.  Affecting  dullness  and 
humble  timidity,  dropping  their  eyes,  doubling  their  backs,  and 
dragging  their  legs,  both  doffed  their  caps  with  a  pitiful  air  as 
they  approached  the  royal  notary.  Caillet  saluted  him  by  twice 
bowing  to  the  earth  with  his  arms  across  his  breast  and  saying 
in  a  trembling  voice: 

"Pardon  .  .  .  excuse  .  .  .  Sir,  if  we,  I  and  my  companion, 
come  alone.  The  other  witnesses  of  the  wedding,  Michael-kill- 
bread  and  Big  Peter,  they  have  just  been  laid  up  with  the  fever 
which  they  caught  draining  the  swamp  of  our  good  seigneur. 
Their  teeth  are  clattering  and  they  are  shaking  on  the  straw. 
That's  why  they  have  not  been  able  to  come  to  town.  I  am  Wil- 
liam, the  father  of  the  bride ;  this  is  my  companion,  Adam,  who 
witnessed  the  wedding." 

"These  witnesses  will  suffice,  I  think,  for  the  amende  honorable, 
will  they  not,  seigneur  ?"  said  the  notary  to  the  Sire  of  Nointel. 
The  latter  answered  with  an  affirmative  nod  of  the  head,  while 
continuing  to  laugh  aloud  with  his  friends  at  the  stupid  and 
timorous  appearance  of  the  two  boors.  All  the  while,  on  his  knees 
a  few  paces  from  his  seigneur,  Mazurec  could  not  repress  his  tears 
at  the  sight  of  Aveline's  father ;  they  rolled  down  slowly  from  his 
inflamed  eyes  while  the  notary  addressed  him,  saying:  "Cross 
your  hands  over  your  chest,  and  raise  your  eyes  to  heaven." 


3o  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

The  condemned  man  clenched  his  fists  with  rage  and  did  not 
follow  the  notary's  orders. 

"Ho !  pshaw !"  cried  William  Caillet,  addressing  Mazurec  in 
a  reproachful  tone.  "Don't  you  hear  what  this  kind  gentleman 
says  ?  He  told  you  to  cross  your  two  hands,  in  this  way  . .  *  >  look 
.  .  .  this  way  .  .  .  look  at  me  .  .  .  * 

These  last  words,  "look  at  me,"  were  pronounced  by  the  peasant 
with  such  force  that  Mazurec  raised  his  head,  and  understood 
the  meaning  of  the  rapid  glance  that  Caillet  darted  at  him.  Quick- 
ly obeying  the  orders  of  the  notary,  the  condemned  man  crossed 
his  arms  on  his  breast. 

"Now, '  proceeded  the  scribe,  "raise  your  head  towards  our 
seigneur  and  repeat  my  words :  "Seigneur,  I  humbly  repent  hav- 
ing had  the  audacity  of  using  unseemly  words  towards  you." 

The  serf  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  overcoming  his  aversion 
with  a  violent  effort,  he  repeated  in  a  hollow  voice:  "Seigneur, 
I  humbly  repent  having  had  the  audacity  of  ....  using  ....  un- 
seemly words  ....  towards  }rou." 

"Further,"  pursued  the  notary,  "I  repent  no  less  humbly,  my 
seigneur,  of  having  wickedly  wished  to  oppose  your  exercise  of 
your  right  of  the  first  fruits  upon  one  of  your  female  vassals, 
whom  I  took  for  my  wife." 

Mazurec's  resignation  had  reached  the  end  of  its  tether.  The 
notary's  last  words,  recalled  to  the  unhappy  man's  mind  the  in- 
famous violence  that  the  sweet  maid  whom  he  tenderly  loved  had 
been  made  a  victim  of;  he  uttered  a  heart-rending  cry,  hid  his 
face  in  his  hands  and,  convulsed  with  sobs,  fell  forward  with  his 
face  on  the  ground.  At  that  spectacle,  Jocelyn,  whose  indignatiop 
threatened  to  overpower  his  prudence,  was  about  to  leap  forward, 
when  he  again  heard  the  cry  of  William  Caillet.  Stooping  down 
to  Mazurec  as  if  help  him  rise,  he  said  two  words  in  his  ears  so 
as  to  be  heard  by  none  others,  and  continued  aloud :  "Ho  !  Pshaw ! 
....  What  ails  you  ?  . . . .  Why  do  you  weep,  my  boy  ?  . . .  .  You 
are  told  that  our  good  seigneur  will  pardon  your  fault  when  you 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  31 

shall  have  repeated  the  words  that  you  are  ordered  to  ....  Go 
ahead  ....  Fling  them  out  quickly,  those  words!" 

With  his  face  bathed  in  tears  and  a  smile  of  the  damned,  Ma- 
zurec  repeated  these  words  after  the  notary  had  told  them  over 
again:  "I  repent  no  less  humbly,  my  seigneur,  having  wickedly 
wished  to  oppose  your  exercise  of  your  right  of  the  first  fruits 
upon  one  of  your  female  vassals,  whom  I  took  for  my  wife." 

"In  repentance  of  which,  my  seigneur,"  pursued  the  notary, 
"I  humbly  place  myself  at  your  mercy." 

"In  repentance  of  which,  my  seigneur,"  stammered  Mazurec 
in  a  fainting  voice,  "I  humbly  place  myself  at  your  mercy." 

"Be  it  so,"  responded  the  Sire  of  Nointel  with  a  haughty  anc7 
flippant  air.  "I  grant  you  mercy.  But  you  shall  not  be  set  free 
until  after  having  rendered  satisfaction  in  a  judicial  duel,  to 
which  you  are  summoned  by  my  guest  Gerard  of  Chaumontel, 
a  nobleman,  whom  you  have  outrageously  defamed  by  accusing 
him  of  larceny."  Turning  thereupon  to  one  of  his  equerries: 
"Let  the  peasant  be  guarded  until  the  hour  of  the  tourney,  and 
let  the  daughter  be  delivered  to  her  father;"  and  stepping  away 
with  his  friends  towards  the  door  of  the  church,  the  young 
seigneur  said  to  them,  laughing:  "The  lesson  will  do  Jacques 
Bonhomme  good.  Do  you  know,  gentlemen,  that  that  stupid  pack- 
has  of  late  been  pricking  up  its  ears  and  commenced  to  bridle  up 
against  our  rights?  Although  she  was  a  comely  lassie,  I  cared 
little  for  that  peasant's  wife ;  but  it  was  necessary  to  prove  to  the 
vile  rustic  plebs  that  we  own  it  body  and  soul ;  therefore,  gentle- 
men, let  us  never  forget  the  proverb :  'Smite  a  villein  and  he'll 
bless  you ;  bless  a  villein  and  he'll  smite  you/  *  Now,  let  us  hear 
the  sacred  mass ;  you  will  tell  me  whether  Gloriande  de  Chivry, 
my  betrothed,  whom  you  will  see  in  my  seigniorial  pew,  is  not 
a  superb  beauty." 

"Happy  Conrad!"  said   Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  the  robber 

*  "Poignez  villain,  il  vous  oindra ;  oignez  villain,  il  vou  poin- 
dra." 


32  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

knight,  "for  bride,  a  handsome  and  radiant  beauty,  who,  besides, 
is  the  richest  heiress  of  this  region,  seeing  that  after  the  death 
of  the  Count  of  Chivry,  his  seigniory,  in  default  of  male  heirs, 
will  fall  from  the  lance  to  the  distaff !  Oh,  Conrad !  What  beau- 
tiful days  of  gold  and  silk  will  you  not  spin,  thanks  to  the  opulent 
distaff  of  Gloriande  of  Chivry!" 

At  the  moment  when  thus  chatting  the  noblemen  entered  the 
church,  Mazurec,  who  was  still  kept  a  prisoner,  vanished  under  the 
vault,  and  a  man  of  the  suite  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel  led  out 
Aveline.  She  was  not  quite  eighteen.  Despite  the  pallor  of  her 
face  and  her  deeply  disturbed  features,  the  girl  preserved  her 
surpassing  beauty.  She  moved  with  faltering  steps,  still  clad  in 
her  humble  bride's  apparel,  of  coarse  white  cloth.  Her  loose  hair 
fell  upon  and  half  covered  her  shoulders.  Her  lacerated  arms 
still  bore  the  traces  of  tight  hands,  seeing  that,  in  order  to 
triumph  over  the  desperate  resistance  of  his  victim,  the  Sire  of 
Nointel  had  her  bound  fast.  Crushed  with  shame  at  the  thought 
of  being  thus  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  the  crowd,  the  moment  she 
stepped  upon  the  parvise  Aveline  closed  her  eyes  with  an  invol- 
untary movement,  and  did  not  at  first  see  Mazurec  who  was  being 
taken  back  to  prison.  However,  at  the  heart-rending  cry  that  he 
uttered,  a  shudder  went  over  her  frame,  she  trembled  at  every 
limb,  and  her  eyes  met  the  gaze  of  her  husband,  a  gaze  of  deso- 
lation, in  which  passionate  love  and  yet  painful  repulsion  mixed 
with  ferocious  jealousy,  raised  within  his  breast  by  the  thought  of 
the  outrage  that  his  wife  had  been  subject  to,  were  all  depicted  at 
once  .  The  last  of  these  feelings  was  betrayed  by  an  involuntary 
movement,  made  by  the  wretched  young  man,  who,  avoiding  the 
beseeching  looks  of  Aveline,  made  a  gesture  of  horror,  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  rushed  under  the  vault  like  one  de- 
mented, followed  by  the  men-at-arms  who  had  him  in  charge. 

"He  despises  me,"  murmured  the  girl  with  fainting  voice  and 
following  her  husband  with  haggard  eyes.  "He  now  no  longer 
loves  me."  Saying  this,  Aveline  became  livid,  her  knees  yielded 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  33 

under  her,  she  lost  consciousness  and  would  have  rolled  upon  the 
ground  without  Caillet,  who,  hastening  to  meet  her,  received  her 
in  his  arms,  saying :  "Your  father  remains  to  you."  Then,  helped 
by  Adam  the  Devil,  he  raised  her  up,  and  both,  carrying  the 
swooning  young  bride  in  their  arms,  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Jocelyn  the  Champion,  a  witness  to  this  distressing  scene, 
rushed  into  the  vault  that  opened  upon  the  parvise,  overtook  the 
keepers  of  Mazurec  and  said  to  one  of  them: 

"The  serf  they  are  taking  away  yonder  has  been  summoned  to 
a  judicial  combat,  is  it  so  comrade  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  man-at-arms,  "he  is  to  combat  with  the 
knight  Gerard  of  Chaumontel.  Such  is  the  sentence." 

"I  must  speak  to  that  serf." 

"He  is  to  communicate  with  nobody." 

"I  am  his  judicial  second  in  this  combat,  will  you  venture  to 
keep  me  from  seeing  and  speaking  with  my  client  ?  By  Satan !  I 
know  the  law.  If  you  refuse — " 

"There  is  no  need  of  bawling  so  loud.  If  you  are  Jacques 
Bonhomme's  judicial  second,  come you  have  a  sorry  prin- 
cipal!" 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  TOURNAMENT. 

The  tourney,  a  ruinous  spectacle  offered  to  the  nobility  of  the 
neighborhood  by  the  Sire  of  Nointel  in  celebration  of  his 
betrothal,  was  held  on  a  large  meadow  that  stretched  before 
the  gates  of  the  town.  The  lists  were  according  to  the  royal 
ordinance  of  the  year  1306,  twenty-four  paces  long  by  forty  wide, 
and  surrounded  by  a  double  row  of  fences  four  feet  apart.  In 
this  latter  space  the  horn  and  clarion  blowers  were  posted ;  like- 
wise the  valets  of  the  combatting  knights  were  allowed  in  this 
latter  enclosure,  ready  to  carry  their  masters  from  the  melee, 
or  to  run  to  their  assistance  when  unhorsed,  seeing  that  these 
valiant  jousters  were  covered  with  such  heavy  and  thick  armor 
that  they  could  move  only  with  difficulty.  Within  these  barriers 
were  also  seen  the  heralds  and  sergeants-at-arms,  charged  with 
preserving  order  at  the  tourney,  and  passing  upon  foul  blows. 

The  plebs  of  the  town  and  neighboring  fields,  having  hastened 
to  witness  the  spectacle  at  the  close  of  the  mass,  crowded  on 
the  outside.  A  more  ragged,  wan,  miserable  and  worn-out 
mass  could  hardly  be  imagined  than  that  presented  by  the 
crowd  whose  crushing  labors  supplied  the  prodigalities  of  their 
seigneurs.  The  only  satisfaction  enjoyed  by  these  cowed  and 
brutified  people  was  that  of  being  allowed  to  assist  from  a  dis- 
tance, as  on  this  day,  at  the  sumptuous  displays  that  they  paid 
for  with  their  sweat  and  their  marrow.  The  vassals,  leaving 
their  mud-huts,  where,  exhausted  with  hunger  and  broken  by 
toil — at  night  they  huddled  pell-mell  on  the  marshy  ground 
like  animals  in  their  pens — contemplated  with  an  astonishment 
that  was  sometimes  mixed  with  savage  hatred,  the  brilliant 
assemblage  covered  with  silks  and  velvets,  embroideries  and 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  35 

precious  stones,  seated  on  a  spacious  amphitheater,  that,  decked 
with  tapestries  and  rich  hangings,  rose  along  one  of  the  sides 
of  the  lists,  and  was  reserved  for  the  noble  dames,  the  seigneurs 
and  the  prelates  of  the  vicinage.     On  either  side  of  the  amphi- 
theater, which  was  sheltered  by  tent-cloths  from  the  rays  of 
the  sun  and  from  the  rain,  were  two  tents  intended  for  the 
knights  who  participated  in  the  jousts.     There  they  don  their 
heavy  armors  before  the  combat,  and  thither  are  they  trans- 
ported when  hurt  or  unhorsed.     Numerous  banners  emblazoned 
with  the  arms  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel  floated  from  the  top  of 
poles  that  surround  the  lists.     The  queen  of  the  tournament 
is  Gloriande,  a  noble  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  Raoul,  count 
and  seigneur  of  Chivry,  and  betrothed  since  the  previous  month 
to  Conrad  of  Nointel.     Magnificently  bedizened  in  a  scarlet 
robe  embroidered  with  gold,  her  black  hair  braided  with  pearls, 
tall  and  of  remarkable  beauty  but  of  a  haughty  and  bold  type, 
with  disdainful  lips  and  imperious  mien,  Gloriande  was  throned 
superbly  under  a  species  of  canopy  contrived  in  the  center  of 
the  platform,  whence  she  could  command  a  view  of  the  arena. 
Her  father,  proud  of  his  daughter's  beauty,  stood  behind  her. 
The  noblemen  and  ladies  of  all  ages,  were  seated  on  benches 
flanking  either  side  of  the  canopy  where  the  young  queen  of  the 
tournament  paraded  her  wealth  and  her  charms.     Suddenly  the 
clarions  sound  the  opening  of  the  passage  of  arms ;  and  a  herald, 
clad  in  red  and  yellow,  the  colors  of  Nointel,  advances  to  the 
center  of  the  arena  and  cries  the  formula : 

"Hear  ye,  hear  ye,  seigneurs  and  knights,  and  people  of  all 
estates: — our  sovereign  seigneur  and  master,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  John,  King  of  the  French,  forbids  under  penalty  of  life 
and  of  forfeiture  of  goods,  all  speaking,  crying  out,  coughing, 
expectorating  or  uttering  and  giving  of  any  signs  during  the 
combat." 

The  profoundest  silence  ensues.  One  of  the  bars  is  lowered, 
and  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  cased  in  a  brilliant  steel  armor  tipped 
with  gold  ornaments,  rides  into  the  arena.  Mounted  on  a  richly 


36  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

caparisoned  charger  that  he  causes  to  prance  and  caracole  with 
ease,  he  reins  in  before  the  canopy  of  Gloriande,  and  the  damosel, 
taking  from  her  own  neck  the  necklace  of  gold  strands,  ties  it  to 
the  iron  of  the  lance  that  her  betrothed  lowers  before  her.  By 
that  act  he  is  accepted  by  the  lady  as  her  knight  of  honor, 
a  quality  by  which  he  is  to  exercise  sovereign  surveillance  over 
the  combatants,  and  if  the  point  of  the  weapon  from  which 
hangs  the  necklace  touch  any  of  the  jousters,  he  must  imme- 
diately withdraw  from  the  combat.  In  giving  her  necklace  to 
her  knight,  Gloriande's  shoulders  and  bosom  remain  naked, 
and  she  receives  without  blushing  the  testimonies  of  admira- 
tion showered  upon  her  by  the  knights  in  her  vicinity,  whose 
libertine  praises  savor  strongly  of  the  obscene  crudities  peculiar 
to  the  language  of  those  days.  After  having  made  the  tour  of 
the  field,  during  which  he  displays  anew  his  skill  in  horseman- 
ship, the  Sire  of  Nointel  returns  to  the  foot  of  the  platform 
where  the  queen  of  the  tournament  is  seated,  and  raises  his 
lance.  The  clarions  forthwith  resound,  the  bars  are  let  down 
at  the  opposite  sides  of  the  arena,  and  each  gives  passage  to  a 
troop  of  knights  armed  cap-a-pie,  visors  down,  recognizable  only 
by  their  emblems  or  the  color  of  their  shields  and  the  banners 
of  their  lances.  The  two  sets,  mounted  on  horses  covered  with 
iron,  remain  for  an  instant  motionless  like  equestrian  statues, 
at  the  extremities  of  the  arena.  The  lances  of  these  gallants, 
six  feet  long  and  stripped  of  their  iron,  are,  in  the  parlance 
of  tourneys,  "courteous";  their  thrust,  no  wise  dangerous,  can 
have  for  Its  only  effect  to  roll  the  ill-mounted  combatant  off 
his  horse.  The  Sire  of  Nointel  consults  the  radiant  Gloriande 
with  the  eye.  With  a  majestic  air  she  waves  her  embroidered 
handkerchief,  and  immediately  her  knight  of  honor  utters  three 
times  the  consecrated  formula :  "Let  them  go  !  Let  them  go  ! 
Let  them  go !" 

The  two  sets  break  loose;  the  horses  are  put  to  a  gallop;  and, 
lances  in  rest,  they  rush  to  the  center  of  the  lists,  where  they 
dash  against  one  another,  horses  and  riders,  with  an  incredibl; 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  37 

clatter  of  hardware.      In  the  shock  the  larger  number  of  lances  fly 
into  splinters.     The  disarmed  tilters  thus  declare  themselves  van- 
quished, and  their  armor  and  mounting  belong  by  right  to 
the  vanquisher.       Accordingly,  these  tourneys  are  as  much  a 
game  of  hazard  as  is  a  game  of  dice.     Not  a  few  renowned 
tilters,  hankering  after  florins  more  than  after  a  puerile  glory, 
derive  large  revenues  from  their  skill  in  these  ridiculous  jousts ; 
almost  always  do  the  adversaries  whom  they  have  overcome 
ransom  their  arms  and  horses  with  considerable  sums.       At  a 
signal  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  a  few  minutes'  truce  followed  upon 
the  disarming  of  two  of  the  knights  who  rolled  down  upon  the 
thick  bed  of  sand  that  the  ground  is  prudently  covered  with. 
There  is  nothing  so  pitifully  grotesque  as  the  appearance  of 
these  disarmed  gallants.     Their  valets  raise  them  up  in  almost 
one  lump  within  their  thick  iron  shell  that  impedes  their  move 
ments,  and  with  legs  stiff  and  apart,  they  reach  the  barrier 
steaming  in  perspiration,  seeing  that,  in  order  to  soften  the 
pressure,  these  noble  combatants  wear  under  their  armor  a  skin 
shirt  and  hose  thickly  padded  with  horse's  hair.       The  van- 
quished abandon  the  lists  in  disgrace,  while  the  vanquishers, 
after  prancing  over  the  arena,  approach  the  platform  where  the 
queen  of  the  tournament  is  enthroned.     There  they  lower  their 
lances   to   her   in   token   of   gallant   homage.       The   charmed 
Gloriande  answers  them  with  a  condescending  smile  and  they 
leave  the  lists  in  triumph.     The  remaining  knights  now  con- 
tinue the  struggle  on  foot  and  with  swords — swords  no  less 
"courteous"  than  their  lances,  without  either  point  or  edge,  so 
that  these  valiant  champions  skirmish  with  steel  bars  three  feet 
and  a  half  long,  and  they  carry  themselves  heroically  in  a  com- 
bat that  is  all  the  less  perilous,  seeing  that  they  are  protected 
against  all  possible  danger  by  their  padded  undergarments  laid 
over  by  an  impenetrable  armor. 

At  a  fresh  signal  from  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  a  furious  conflict 
is  engaged  in  by  the  remaining  combatants.  One  of  them  slips 
and  falls  over  backward  and  remains  motionless,  as  little  able 


38  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

to  rise  as  a  tortoise  laid  on  its  back.  Another  of  the  Caesars 
has  his  sword  broken  in  two  in  his  own  hands.  Only  two  com 
batants  now  remain,  and  continue  the  struggle  with  rage.  The 
one  carries  a  green  buckler  emblazoned  with  an  argent  lion 
the  other  a  red  buckler  emblazoned  with  a  gold  dolphin.  The 
knight  of  the  argent  lion  deals  with  his  sword  such  a  hard 
blow  upon  his  adversary's  casque,  that,  dazed  by  the  shock, 
the  latter  falls  heavily  upon  his  haunches  on  the  sand.  The 
great  conqueror  superbly  enjoyed  his  triumph  by  proudly  con- 
templating his  vanquished  adversary,  ridiculously  seated  at  hi 
feet;  and,  responding  to  the  enthusiastic  acclamations  of  the 
assembled  nobility,  he  approached  the  throne  of  the  queen  of 
the  tourney,  bent  one  knee,  and  raised  his  visor.  After  placing 
a  rich  collar  around  the  conqueror's  neck  in  token  of  his  prowess, 
Gloriande  stooped  down,  and,  following  the  custom  of  the  time, 
deposited  a  loud  and  long  kiss  upon  his  lips.  This  duty,  at- 
tached to  her  distinguished  office,  Gloriande  fulfilled  without 
blushing,  and  with  an  off-handedness  that  denoted  ample  ex- 
perience. Thanks  to  her  beauty,  the  young  lady  of  Chivry  had 
been  often  before  chosen  queen  of  tournaments.  The  clarions 
announced  the  victory  of  the  knight  of  the  argent  lion,  who,  strut- 
ting proudly  with  the  trophy  around  his  neck,  placed  his  right 
hand  on  his  hip,  walked  around  the  arena,  and  marched  out  at  the 
barriers. 

These  first  passages  of  arms  were  followed  by  an  interval 
during  which  the  valets  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  carrying  cups, 
plates,  and  flagons  of  gold  and  silver,  that  glistened  in  the 
dazzled  eyes  of  the  peasants,  served  the  noble  company  on  the 
platform  with  spiced  wines,  refreshments  and  choice  pastries, 
ample  honor  being  done  by  all  to  the  munificence  of  the  Sire  of 
Nointel. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  JUDICIAL  COMBAT. 

The  seigneurs,  their  wives  and  daughters  on  the  platforms  had 
just  enjoyed  the  refection,  while  commenting  upon  the  in- 
cidents of  the  tourney,  when  a  shudder  ran  through  the  crowd 
of  peasants  and  bourgeois  massed  outside  of  the  barriers.  Until 
then  and  while  witnessing  the  jousts  and  the  passages  of  arms 
they  had  been  animated  with  curiosity  only.  In  the  combat, 
which  it  was  murmured  among  them  was  to  follow  these  harmless 
struggles,  the  populace  felt  themselves  concerned.  It  was  to  be 
a  combat  to  the  death  between  a  vassal  and  a  knight,  the  latter 
on  horseback  and  in  full  armor,  the  vassal  on  foot,  dressed  in 
his  blouse  and  armed  with  a  stick.  Even  the  more  timid  and 
brutalized  ones  among  the  vassals  revolted  at  the  thought  of 
so  crassly  unequal  a  conflict,  in  which  one  of  their  class  was 
inevitably  destined  to  death.  It  was,  accordingly,  amidst  a  silence 
laden  with  anxiety  and  suppressed  anger  that  one  of  the  heralds 
uttered  three  times  from  the  center  of  the  arena  the  consecrated 
formula :  "Let  the  appellant  enter !" 

The  knight  Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  now  summoned  to  the  trial 
of  a  judicial  combat  against  the  accusation  of  theft  made  by 
Mazurec,  issued  from  one  of  the  contiguous  tents  and  entered 
the  arena  on  horseback,  in  full  armor.  His  buckler  hangs  from 
his  neck;  his  visor  is  up;  in  his  hand  he  carries  a  little  image 
of  St.  James,  for  whom  the  pious  knight  seemed  to  entertain 
a  peculiar  devotion.  His  two  seconds,  on  horseback  like  him- 
self, ride  beside  him.  With  him  they  make  the  round  of  the 
arena  while  the  fair  Gloriande  says  to  her  father  disdainfully: 
"What  a  shame  for  the  nobility  to  see  a  knight  reduced,  ir 
order  to  prove  his  innocence,  to  do  combat  with  a  varlet !" 


40  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Oh,  my  daughter!  What  evil  days  these  are  that  we  live 
in  !"  answered  the  aged  seigneur  with  a  growl.  "Those  accursed 
king's  jurists  are  crossing  their  pencils  over  all  our  rights 
under  the  impertinent  pretext  of  legalizing  them.  Was  not  n 
decree  of  the  court  of  the  seneschal  of  Beauvoisis  requisite  in 
order  to  authorize  our  friend  Conrad  to  exercise  his  seigniorial 
right  over  a  miserable  female  serf  in  revolt?"  Eemembering, 
however,  that  his  daughter  was  the  betrothed  of  the  Sire  of 
Nointel,  the  Count  of  Chivry  stopped  short.  Gloriande  sur- 
mised the  cause  of  her  father's  reticence  and  said  to  him  with  a 
haughtiness  that  verged  on  anger:  "Do  you  think  that  I  am 
jealous  of  such  as  her?  Can  I  look  upon  these  female  serfs  as 
rivals  ?" 

"No,  no;  I  am  not  placing  such  an  insult  upon  you,  my 
daughter  .  .  .  but  after  all,  the  rebellion  of  that  female 
vassal  is  as  novel  as  it  is  monstrous.  Oh,  the  spirit  of  revolt 
among  the  populace,  although  partly  broken  to-day,  has  spread 
into  our  domains  and  has  infested  our  peasants  also;  and  that 
is  taken  by  the  crown  for  a  pretext  to  add  to  our  troubles  by 
encroaching  upon  our  rights,  claiming  that  they  must  be  first 
sanctioned  by  the  jurists.  A  curse  upon  all  reform  kings  I" 

"But,  father,  our  rights  remain." 

"Blood  and  thunder,  my  daughter!  Do  our  privileges  stand 
in  need  of  confirmation  by  the  men  of  the  gown  ?  Does  not  our 
class  hold  its  rights  by  the  right  of  our  ancestors'  swords?  No 
no,  the  crown  aims  at  monopolizing  all  rights,  and  to  be  the  sole 
exploiter  of  the  plebs." 

"Have  not  the  kings,"  observed  another  knight,  "taken  from 
us  one  of  our  best  sources  of  revenue,  the  minting  of  money 
in  our  seigniories,  under  the  pretext  that  we  coined  false  money  ? 
The  devil  take  kings  who  hold  up  law!  May  hell  consume  tlu 
gentry  of  the  pen !" 

"Blood  and  thunder !  It  is  enough  to  make  one's  blood  boil 
in  his  veins,"  cried  the  Count  of  Chivry.  "Is  there  in  the 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  4I 

whole  world  any  worse  money  than  the  king's.  False  coiners 
have  been  quartered  who  are  less  thievish  than  our  King  John 
and  his  predecessors." 

"Let  that  good  prince  look  elsewhere  than  here  for  support," 
put  in  another  knight.  "The  truce  with  England  will  soon 
expire.  If  war  breaks  out  anew,  King  John  will  see  neither 
a  man  nor  a  gold  piece  out  of  my  domain.  He  may,  for  all  I 
care,  leave  his  carcass  on  the  field  of  battle." 

"Oh,  gentlemen,"  said  Gloriande  gulping  down  a  yawn,  "how 
uninteresting  is  your  conversation!  Let  us  rather  talk  about 
the  Court  of  Love  that  is  soon  to  hold  its  sessions  in  Clermont, 
and  for  which  I  shall  order  the  most  skillful  hairdressers  from 
Paris.  I  am  also  expecting  a  Lombard  who  is  to  bring  me 
magnificent  silks,  woven  with  gold  and  silver,  and  which  I  shall 
wear  during  the  solemnity." 

"And  what  do  you  expect  to  pay  all  those  fine  things  with?" 
cried  the  Count  of  Chivry.  "How  are  we  to  meet  the  expenses 
of  brilliant  tourneys  and  the  sumptuous  displays  of  the  Court  of 
Love  if,  on  the  one  side,  the  King  ruins  us,  and,  on  the  other, 
Jacques  Bonhomme  refuses  to  work  ?" 

"Oh !  Oh !  Dear  father !"  replied  the  fair  Gloriande,  laugh- 
ing aloud.  "Jacques  Bonhomme  will  meekly  bend  the  neck.  At 
the  first  crack  of  the  whip  of  one  of  our  hunters  you  will  see 
those  varlets  lie  down  flat  upon  their  faces.  And  mind  you," 
added  the  young  lady,  redoubling  her  laughter,  "just  turn  your 
eyes  to  that  bugaboo  of  a  Jacques  Bonhomme,  does  he  not  look 
redoubtable?"  and  she  pointed  with  her  finger  at  Mazurec  the 
Lambkin,  who,  at  the  second  call  of  the  herald,  had  stepped 
into  the  arena  accompanied  by  his  two  seconds,  Jocelyn  the 
Champion  and  Adam  the  Devil.  Mazurec,  dressed  in  hi* 
"blaude,"  the  ancient  Gallic  blouse,  made  of  coarse  cloth  and 
of  the  same  fabric  as  his  hose,  wore  on  his  head  a  woolen  cap  while 
his  wooden  shoes  partly  hid  his  bare  feet.  Jocelyn,  his  second, 
held  in  his  hand  a  stout  stick  of  sorb,  four  feet  long,  and  freshly 
cut  by  himself  in  a  neighboring  thicket,  with  an  eye  to  the  fact 


42  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

that,  when  fresh,  the  sorb  wood  is  heavy  and  does  not  easily 
break.  The  appellee,  as  well  as  the  appellant,  in  the  judicial 
battle  were  required  to  make  the  round  of  the  arena  before  en- 
gaging in  combat.  The  serf  filled  the  formality  in  slow  and 
measured  steps,  accompanied  by  his  two  seconds. 

"My  brave  fellow,"  Jocelyn  said  to  Mazurec,  "do  not  forget 
my  advice,  and  you  stand  a  chance  of  worsting  your  noble  robber, 
for  all  that  he  may  be  on  horseback  and  armed  cap-a-pie." 

"I'd   as  lief  die,"  answered  the  serf,  marching  dejectedl 
between  his  two  seconds  with  his  head  down  and  his  eyes  fixed. 
"When  I  saw  Aveline  this  morning  it  was  as  if  a  knife  haf 
entered  my  heart,"  he  added  sobbing.     "Oh,  I  am  a  lost  man !" 

"By  the  navel  of  the  Pope !  No  feebleness,"  replied  Jocelyn 
with  emphasis  and  alarmed  at  the  despondent  voice  of  his  prin- 
cipal. "Where  is  your  courage  ?  This  morning  from  a  lambkin 
you  became  a  wolf." 

"To  now  live  with  my  poor  wife  would  be  a  daily  torture  to 
me,"  murmured  the  serf.  "I  would  rather  the  knight  killed  me 
outright." 

Thus  conversing,  half  the  field  had  been  covered  by  Mazureo 
in  company  with  his  seconds.  The  latter,  more  and  more 
alarmed  at  the  unhappy  young  man's  despondency,  were  at  that 
moment  passing  at  the  foot  of  the  amphitheater  where  the  nobility 
of  the  neighborhood  were  seated  with  the  fair  Gloriande  in  thei1 
midst.  Casting  an  expressive  look  at  the  champion,  Adam  the 
Devil  nudged  Mazurec  with  his  elbow  and  said  to  him  in  a  low 
voice:  "Take  a  look  at  the  betrothed  of  our  seigneur  .  .  . 
I  swear  she's  handsome !  .  .  .  That  will  make  a  pretty  wed- 
ding! Hm!  .  .  .  Won't  the  two  lovers  be  happy?"  AJ 
these  words,  which  fell  like  molten  lead  upon  the  bleeding 
wound  in  his  heart,  the  vassal  shook  convulsively.  "Take  n 
good  look  at  the  handsome  young  lady,"  proceeded  Adam  the 
Devil.  "See  how  happy  she  is  in  her  rich  clothes.  Do  you  hear 
her  laugh?  .  .  .  Go  to!  No  doubt  she's  laughing  at  you 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  43 

and  at  your  wife,  who  was  violated  last  night  by  our  seigneur 

.     .     .     But  do  take  a  look  at  the  beauty!     I  wager  she  i 
jeering  at  you  " 

Drawn  from  his  dejection,  and  rage  mounting  to  his  heart, 
Mazurec  brusquely  raised  his  head.  For  an  instant  his  eyes 
fiery  and  red  with  weeping,  fastened  on  the  betrothed  of  his 
seigneur,  the  haughty  damosel,  resplendent  in  attire  and  personal 
beauty,  radiant  with  happiness,  and  surrounded  by  brilliant 
knights,  who,  courting  her  smiles,  crowded  near  her. 

"At  this  hour/'  the  caustic  voice  of  Adam  the  Devil  whispered 
to  the  ear  of  Mazurec,  "your  own  bride  is  drinking  her  shame 
and  her  tears.  What !  In  order  to  avenge  Aveline  and  your- 
self would  you  not  make  an  attempt  to  kill  the  nobleman  who 
robbed  you !  .  .  .  That  thief  is  the  cause  of  all  your  mis- 
fortune." 

"My  stick!"  cried  the  vassal  leaping  forward,  transported 
with  rage,  at  the  same  instant  that  one  of  the  sergeants-at-armp 
hurried  by  to  notify  him  that  it  was  not  allowed  to  stop  on  the 
arena  and  look  at  the  ladies,  but  that  he  was  to  betake  himself 
to  one  of  the  tents  in  order,  before  the  combat,  to  take  th' 
customary  oaths  with  the  vicar  of  Nointel.  Now  inflamed  with 
hatred  and  rage,  Mazurec  quickly  followed  the  sergeant-at- 
arms,  while,  walking  more  slowly,  Jocelyn  said  to  Adam  the 
Devil : 

"You  must  have  suffered  a  great  deal  in  your  lifetime  .  .  . 
I  overheard  you  a  minute  ago.  You  know  how  to  fire  hatred — n 

"Three  years  ago,"  broke  in  the  serf  with  a  wild  look,  "I 
killed  my  wife  with  an  axe,  and  yet  I  loved  her  to  distrac- 
tion—" 

"Was  that  at  Bourcy — near  Senlis?" 

"Who  told  you  of  it  ?    How  come  you  to  know  it  ?" 

"I  happened  to  ride  through  the  village  on  the  day  of  the 
murder.  You  preferred  to  see  your  wife  dead  rather  than  dis- 
graced by  your  episcopal  seigneur." 

"Exactly.    That's  the  way  I  felt  on  the  subject." 


44  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"But  how  did  you  become  a  serf  of  this  seigniory  ?" 

"After  I  killed  my  wife,  I  kept  in  hiding  for  a  month  in  the 
forest  of  Senlis,  where  I  lived  on  roots ;  thereupon  I  came  to  this 
country.  Caillet  gave  me  shelter.  I  offered  my  services  as  a 
butcher  to  the  superintendent  of  the  seigniory  of  Nointel.  After 
the  lapse  of  a  year  I  was  numbered  among  the  vassals  of  the 
domain.  I  remained  here  out  of  friendship  for  Caillet." 

During  this  conversation  between  his  two  seconds  Mazurec  had 
arrived  near  the  tent  where  he,  as  well  as  the  Knight  of  Chau- 
montel,  was  to  take  the  customary  oath.  Clad  in  his  sacerdotal 
robes  and  holding  a  crucifix  in  his  hands,  the  vicar  addressed  the 
serf  and  the  knight. 

"Appellant  and  appellee,  do  not  ye  shut  your  eyes  to  the 
danger  to  which  you  expose  your  souls  in  combating  for  a  bad 
cause.  If  either  of  you  wishes  to  withdraw  and  place  himself 
at  the  mercy  of  his  seigneur  and  the  King,  it  is  still  time.  It 
will  soon  be  too  late.  One  of  you  is  about  to  cross  the  gates  of 
the  other  world.  You  will  there  find  seated  a  God  who  is  merci- 
less to  the  perjurer.  Appellant  and  appellee,  think  of  that.  All 
men  are  equally  weak  before  the  tribunal  of  divine  justice.  The 
eternal  kingdom  is  not  entered  in  armor.  Is  either  of  you  willing 
to  recede?" 

"I  shall  maintain  unto  death  that  this  knight  has  robbed  me ; 
he  has  caused  my  misfortunes;  if  God  is  just,  I  shall  kill  this 
man,"  answered  Mazurec  in  a  voice  of  concentrated  rage. 

"And  I,"  cried  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  "swear  to  God  that 
that  vassal  lies  in  his  throat,  and  outrageously  slanders  me. 
I  shall  prove  his  imposture  with  the  intercession  of  our  Lord 
and  all  his  saints,  especially  with  the  good  help  of  St.  James,  my 
blessed  patron." 

"Aye,"  put  in  Jocelyn,  "and  above  all  with  the  good  help  of 
your  armor,  your  lance  and  your  sword.  Infamous  man !  To 
battle  on  horseback,  helmet  on  head,  cuirass  on  body,  sword  at 
your  side,  lance  in  your  hand,  against  a  poor  man  on  foot  and 
armed  only  with  a  stick.  Aye,  you  behave  like  a  coward. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  45 

Cowards  are  thieves;  consequently,  you  stole  the  purse  of  my 
principal  I" 

"How  dare  you  address  me  in  such  words !"  cried  the  knight 
of  Chaumontel.  "Such  a  common  fellow  as  you!  Miserable 
vagabond !  Intolerable  criminal !" 

"Heavens  be  praised !  He  utters  insults !"  exclaimed  Jocelyn 
with  delight.  "Oh,  Sir  thief,  if  you  are  not  the  most  cowardly 
of  two-legged  hares,  you  will  follow  me  on  the  spot  behind 
yonder  pavillion,  or  else  I  shall  slap  your  ignoble  scamp's  face 
with  the  scabbard  of  my  sword." 

Livid  with  rage,  Gerard  of  Chaumontel  was,  to  the  extreme 
joy  of  Jocelyn,  about  to  accept  the  latter's  challenge,  when  one 
of  his  seconds  said  to  him: 

"That  bandit  is  trying  to  save  his  principal  by  provoking 
you  to  a  fight.  Fall  not  into  the  trap.  Do  not  mind  him,  mind 
the  vassal." 

Taking  this  prudent  advice,  Gerard  of  Chaumontel  con- 
temptuously answered  Jocelyn :  "When  arms  in  hand  I  shall 
have  convicted  this  other  varlet  of  imposture,  I  shall  then  con- 
sider whether  you  deserve  that  I  accept  your  insolent  chal- 
lenge." 

"You  evidently  desire  to  taste  the  scabbard  of  my  sword/' 
cried  Jocelyn.  "By  heaven,  I  shall  not  deprive  you  of  the  dish ; 
and  if  your  hang-dog  face  does  not  redden  with  shame,  it  will 
redden  under  my  slaps.  Coward  and  felon — " 

"Not  another  word,  or  I  shall  order  one  of  my  men  to  expel 
you  from  the  arena,"  said  the  herald-at-arms  to  Jocelyn;  "a 
second  has  no  right  to  insult  the  adversary  of  his  own  prin- 
cipal." 

Jocelyn  realized  that  he  would  be  compelled  to  yield  to  force, 
held  his  tongue,  and  cast  a  distracted  look  at  Mazurec.  The 
vicar  of  Nointel  raised  the  crucifix  and  resumed  in  hisnasal  voice : 
"Appellant  and  appellee,  do  you  and  each  of  you  still  insist 
that  your  cause  is  just?  Do  you  swear  on  the  image  of  the 
Saviour  of  mankind?"  and  the  vicar  presented  the  crucifix  to 


46  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

the  knight,  who  took  off  his  iron  gauntlet  and  placing  his  hand 
upon  the  image  of  Christ,  declared: 

"My  cause  is  just,  I  swear  to  God  I" 

"My  cause  is  just,"  said  in  turn  Mazurec ;  "and  I  take  God  f or 
my  witness;  but  let  us  combat  quickly;  oh,  quickly !" 

"Do  you  swear,"  proceeded  the  vicar,  "that  neither  of  you 
carries  about  his  person  either  stone,  or  herb,  or  any  other 
magic  charm,  amulet  or  incantation  of  the  enemy  of  man  ?" 

"I  swear,"  said  the  knight. 

"I  swear,"  said  Mazurec  panting  with  rage.  "Oh,  how  much 
time  is  lost !" 

"And  now,  appellant  and  appellee,"  cried  the  herald-at-arms, 
"the  lists  are  open  to  you.  Do  your  duty." 

The  knight  of  Chaumontel  seized  his  long  lance  and  jumped 
upon  his  horse,  which  one  of  his  seconds  held  for  him,  while 
Jocelyn,  pale  and  deeply  moved,  said  to  Mazurec,  while  giving 
him  his  stick :  "Courage !  .  .  .  Follow  my  advice  .  .  . 
I  expect  you  will  kill  that  coward  .  .  .  But  one  last  word 
.  .  .  .  It  regards  your  mother  .  .  .  Did  she  never  tell 
you  the  name  of  your  father  ?" 

"Never  ...  as  I  told  you  this  morning  in  prison. 
My  mother  always  avoided  speaking  to  me  of  my  father." 

"And  her  name  was  Gervaise?"  asked  Jocelyn  pensively. 
"What  was  the  color  of  her  hair  and  eyes?" 

"Her  hair  was  blonde,  her  eyes  black.     Poor  mother." 

"And  had  she  no  other  mark?" 

"She  had  a  small  scar  above  her  right  eye-brow — " 

The  clarions  sounded  at  this  point.  It  was  the  signal  for  the 
judicial  duel.  Unable  to  restrain  his  tears,  Jocelyn  pressed 
Mazurec  in  his  arms  and  said  to  him :  "I  may  not  at  a  moment 
like  this  reveal  to  you  the  cause  of  the  double  interest  that 
you  inspire  me  .  .  .  My  suspicions  and  hopes,  perhaps, 
deceive  me  ...  But  courage  .  .  .  Hit  your  enemy  on 
the  head." 

"Courage!"  put  in  Adam  the  Devil  in  an  undertone.     "In 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  4? 

order  to  keep  your  blood  boiling,  think  of  your  wife  .  .  . 
remember  the  betrothed  of  your  seigneur  laughed  at  you  .  .  . 
Kill  the  thief,  and  patience  ...  It  will  some  day  be  our 
turn  to  laugh  at  the  noble  damosel  .  .  .  Think  above  all  of 
your  wife  ...  of  her  last  night's  shame  and  of  your  own 
.  .  .  Kemember  that  you  have  both  been  made  forever  un- 
happy, and  fall  to  bravely  upon  that  nobleman!  Be  brave 
.  .  .  You  have  a  cane,  nails  and  teeth !" 

Mazurec  the  Lambkin  uttered  a  cry  of  rage  and  rushed  into 
the  lists  at  the  moment  when,  in  answer  to  a  motion  from  the 
Sire  of  Nointel,  the  marshal  of  the  tourney  gave  the  signal  for 
the  combat  to  the  appellant  and  appellee  by  calling  three  times 
the  consecrated  words :  "Let  them  go  I" 

The  noble  spectators  on  the  platform  laughed  in  advance  at 
the  sorry  discomfiture  of  Jacques  Bonhomme;  but  among  the 
plebeian  crowd  all  hearts  stopped  beating  with  anxiety  at  this 
decisive  moment.  The  knight  of  Chaumontel,  a  vigorous  man, 
armed  in  full  panoply,  mounted  on  a  tall  charger  covered  with 
iron,  and  his  long  lance  in  rest,  occupied  the  center  of  the  arena, 
while  Mazurec  dashed  to  the  spot  barefoot,  clad  in  his  blouse 
and  holding  his  stick  in  his  hands.  At  sight  of  the  serf,  the 
knight,  who,  out  of  contempt  for  such  an  adversary,  had  dis- 
dained to  lower  his  visor,  put  the  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  lowering 
his  pointed  iron-headed  lance,  charged  upon  the  serf  certain  of 
transfixing  him  then  and  there,  and  then  trampling  over  him 
with  his  horse.  But  Mazurec,  mindful  of  Jocelyn's  recom- 
mendations, avoided  the  lance  thrust  by  suddenly  letting  him- 
self down  flat  upon  his  face;  and  then,  partly  rising  up  at  the 
moment  when  the  horse  was  about  to  grind  him  under  its 
hoofs,  he  dealt  the  animal  two  such  heavy  blows  with  his  stick 
on  its  forelegs  that  the  courser,  stung  with  pain,  reared,  slipped 
its  footing  and  almost  fell  over,  while  its  rider  was  shaken  out  of 
position  on  the  saddle. 

"Felony !"  cried  the  Sire  of  Nointel  with  indignation.  "It  is 
forbidden  to  strike  a  horse!" 


48  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Well  done?  my  brave  woolen  cap !"  cried  the  populace  on  the 
outside,  palpitating  with  suspense  and  clapping  their  hands, 
despite  the  strictness  and  severity  of  the  royal  ordinances 
which  commanded  profound  silence  to  the  spectators  at  a  tour- 
ney. 

"Fall  to,  Mazurec !"  simultaneously  cried  Jocelyn  and  Adam 
the  Devil.  "Courage !  Kill  the  nobleman !  Kill  him !  Death 
to  the  thief!" 

Mazurec  rose,  and  seeing  the  knight  out  of  poise  and  holding 
to  the  bow  of  his  saddle,  dropped  his  stick,  picked  up  a  fistful 
of  sand,  leaped  upon  the  horse  behind  Gerard  of  Chaumontal, 
while  the  latter  was  seeking  to  regain  his  equilibrium,  lost  no 
time  in  clutching  the  knight  around  the  neck  with  one  hand, 
turned  him  half  over  backward,  and  with  the  other  rubbed  his 
eyes  with  the  sand  he  had  just  picked  up.  Almost  half-blinded, 
the  noble  robber  dropped  his  lance  and  reins  and  sought  to  carry 
his  hands  to  his  eyes.  Mazurec  seeing  the  movement,  put  his 
arms  around  the  knight,  and,  after  a  short  struggle,  succeeded 
in  making  him  wholly  lose  his  balance  and  tumble  down  to  the 
ground,  where  both  fell  rolling  on  the  arena,  while  the  crowd 
of  serfs,  now  considering  the  serf  the  victor  over  the  knight, 
clapped  their  hands,  stamped  oo  the  ground  with  joy  and  cried : 
"Victory  for  the  woolen  cap !" 

Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  however,  although  blinded  by  the  sand 
and  dazed  by  the  fall,  gathered  fresh  strength  from  the  rage 
that  took  possession  of  him  at  finding  himself  unhorsed  by  a 
peasant,  and  with  little  difficulty  regained  the  upper  hand 
over  his  unskilled  adversary.  In  the  unequal  struggle  against 
the  man  clad  in  iron,  the  tight  clasp  of  the  virtually  naked  serf 
was  in  vain;  his  nails  broke  off  against,  or  glided  harmlessly 
over  the  polished  armor  of  his  adversary,  while  the  latter, 
finally  succeeding  in  planting  his  two  knees  upon  the  serf? 
chest,  bruised  his  head  and  face  with  a  shower  of  hammer  blowy 
dealt  with  his  iron  gauntlet.  His  face  beaten  to  pulp  and  bleed- 
ing, Mazurec  pronounced  once  more  the  name  of  Aveline  and 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  49 

remained  motionless.  Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  who  was  gradually 
regaining  his  sight,  not  satisfied  with  having  almost  beaten  the- 
serf's  face  out  of  shape,  then  drew  his  dagger  to  finish  his  victim. 
But  quickly  recalling  himself,  and  animated  by  a  feeling  of 
refined  cruelty,  he  replaced  the  dagger  in  his  belt,  rose  up- 
right, and  placing  one  of  his  iron  shod  feet  upon  the  chest 
of  the  prostrate  and  moaning  Mazurec,  cried  in  a  stentorian 
voice:  "Let  this  vile  impostor  be  bound  up,  put  in  a  bag  and 
thrown  into  the  river  as  he  deserves.  It  is  the  law  of  the  duel ; 
let  it  be  carried  out !" 


CHAPTER    V. 
SHEET  LIGHTNINGS. 

An  oppressive  silence  followed  the  close  of  the  judicial  com- 
bat, as  Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  leaving  the  outstretched  body 
of  the  serf  on  the  sand,  rejoined  his  seconds  while  rubbing  his 
irritated  eyelids,  and  jointly  they  quitted  the  arena.  The  sergeant- 
at-arms  had  proceeded  to  pick  up  the  prostrate  body  of  the  vas- 
sal in  order  to  carry  it  to  the  bridge  that  spanned  the  near-by 
river;  and  the  vicar  of  Nointel  had  followed  on  the  tracks  of 
the  mournful  train,  in  order  to  administer  the  last  sacraments 
to  the  condemned  man  so  soon  as  he  should  recover  consciousness1, 
and  before  he  was  bundled  into  a  bag,  agreeable  to  the  ordinance, 
and  cast  into  the  river.  For  a  moment  struck  dumb  with  terror 
by  the  issue  of  the  judicial  combat,  the  plebs  crowd  was  slow- 
ly recovering  its  voice,  and,  despite  its  habit  of  respect  towards 
the  seigneurs,  had  begun  to  murmur  with  rising  indignation. 
Several  voices  were  heard  to  say  that  the  knight  having  been 
unhorsed  by  the  vassal,  the  latter  was  to  be  considered  the  vic- 
tor and  should  not  be  killed.  The  turmoil  was  on  the  increase, 
when  an  unexpected  event  suddealy  drew  to  itself  the  attention 
of  the  crowd  and  cut  short  its  criminations.  A  large  troop  of 
men-at-arms,  covered  with  dust  and  one  of  whom  bore  a  white 
flag  emblazoned  with  the  fleur-de-lis,*  hove  in  sight  at  a  dis- 
tance over  the  field  and  rapidly  approached  the  fenced-in  arena, 
Mazurec  was  forgotten.  Sharing  the  astonishment  of  the  as- 
sembled nobility  at  the  sight  of  the  armed  troop  that  had  now 
reached  the  barriers,  the  Sire  of  Nointel  applied  both  spurs  to 
his  horse,  rode  rapidly  forward,  and  addressing  himself  to  one 


*The  three  lilies,  the  device  of  French  royalty. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  51 

of  the  new  arrivals,  a  herald  with  the  fleur-de-lis  jacket,  sa- 
luted him  courteously  and  inquired: 

"Sir  herald,  what  brings  you  hither?" 

"An  order  of  the  King,  my  master.  I  am  charged  with  a  mes- 
sage to  all  the  seigneurs  and  noblemen  of  Beauvoisis.  Having 
learned  that  a  large  number  of  them  were  gathered  at  this  place, 
I  came  hither.  Listen  to  the  envoy  of  King  John." 

"Enter  the  lists  and  read  your  message  aloud,"  answered 
Conrad  of  Nointel  to  the  herald,  who,  producing  a  parchment 
from  a  richly  embroidered  bag,  rode  to  the  center  of  the  arena 
and  prepared  to  read. 

"This  extraordinary  message  augurs  nothing  good,"  said  the 
seigneur  of  Chivry  to  his  daughter  Gloriande.  "King  John  is 
going  to  demand  some  levy  of  men  of  us  for  his  war  against 
the  English,  unless  it  be  some  new  edict  on  coinage,  some  fresh 
royal  pillage." 

"Oh,  father!  If,  like  so  many  other  seigneurs,  you  had  only 
chosen  to  go  to  the  court  at  Paris  .  .  .  you  would  then 
have  shared  in  the  largesses  of  King  John,  who,  we  hear,  is 
so  magnificently  prodigal  towards  the  courtiers.  You  would 
then  have  gained  on  the  one  side  what  you  lost  on  the  other. 
And  then  also  .  .  .  they  say  the  court  is  such  a  charming 
place  .  .  .  continuous  royal  feasts  and  dances,  enhanced 
by  choicest  gallantry.  After  our  marriage  Conrad  must  take 
me  to  Paris.  I  wish  to  shine  at  the  royal  court." 

"You  are  a  giddy-headed  girl,"  observed  the  aged  seigneur 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  half  closing  his  fist,  which  he 
applied  to  his  ear  for  a  trumpet,  so  as  to  be  better  able  to  hear 
the  royal  herald,  he  remarked  to  himself:  "What  devil  of  a 
song  is  he  going  to  sing  to  us?" 

"John,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  the  French,"  said  the 
herald  reading  from  his  parchment,  "to  his  dear,  beloved  and 
faithful  seigneurs  of  Beauvoisis ;  Greeting !" 

"Proceed,  proceed;  we  can  do  very  well  without  your  polite- 


52  THE  IkOM  TREVET. 

ness  and  greetings,''  grumbled  the  aged  seigneur  of  Chivry. 
"They  are  gilding  the  pill  for  us  to  swallow/' 

"Pray,  father,  let  me  hear  the  messenger,"  said  Gloriande 
impatiently.  "The  royal  language  has  a  court  perfume  that 
ravishes  me." 

The  herald  proceeded:  "The  mortal  enemy  of  the  French, 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  son  of  the  King  of  England,  has  perfid- 
iously broken  the  truce  that  was  not  to  expire  for  some  time 
longer.  He  is  advancing  at  the  head  of  a  strong  army." 

"There  we  are,"  cried  the  Count  of  Chivry,  angrily  stamping 
with  his  feet.  "It  is  a  levy  of  men  that  we  are  going  to  be  asked 
for.  Blood  and  massacre !  To  the  devil  with  the  King !" 

The  herald  continued  reading:  "After  having  set  fire  to 
everything  on  their  route,  the  English  are  marching  towards  the 
heart  of  the  country.  In  order  to  arrest  this  disastrous  invasion, 
and  in  view  of  this  great  public  danger,  we  impose  upon  our 
peoples  and  our  beloved  nobility  a  double  tax  for  this  year. 
Furthermore,  we  enjoin,  order  and  command  all  our  dear,  beloved 
and  faithful  seigneurs  of  Beauvoisis  to  take  up  arms  themselves, 
levy  their  men,  and  join  us  within  eight  days  at  Bourg,  whence 
we  shall  take  the  field  against  the  English,  whom  we  shall 
vanquish  with  the  aid  of  God  and  our  valiant  nobility.  Let 
everyone  be  at  his  post  of  battle.  Such  is  my  will.  JOHN." 

This  appeal  from  the  King  of  the  French  to  his  valiant 
nobility  of  Beauvoisis  was  received  by  the  noble  assemblage 
with  a  mute  stupor,  that  speedily  made  place  for  murmurs 
of  anger  and  rebellion. 

"We  refuse  to  give  men  and  money.  To  the  devil  with 
King  John!"  cried  the  Count  of  Chivry.  "Already  has  he 
imposed  subsidies  upon  us  for  the  maintenance  of  his  troops. 
Let  him  take  them  to  war!  We  propose  to  remain  at  our 
manors !" 

"Well  said!"  exclaimed  another  seigneur.  "The  King  evi- 
dently kept  up  no  army.  All  our  moneys  have  been  squandered 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  53 

in  pleasures  and  festivities.     The  court  at  Paris  is  an  insatiable 
maw !" 

"What!"  interjected  a  third;  "we  are  to  wear  ourselves  out 
making  Jacques  Bonhomme  sweat  all  the  wealth  he  can,  and 
the  cream  thereof  is  to  go  into  the  King's  coffers?  Not  by  all 
the  devils !  Already  have  we  given  too  much." 

"Let  the  King  defend  himself.  His  domains  are  more  exposed 
than  our  own.  Let  him  protect  them !" 

"It  is  all  we  can  do,  we  and  our  own  armed  forces,  to  protect 
our  castles  against  the  bands  of  marauders,  of  Navarrais  and  of 
the  hired  soldiery  that  ravages  our  lands !  And  are  we  to  aban- 
don .our  homes  in  order  to  march  against  the  English?  By 
the  saints !  Fine  goslings  would  we  be !" 

"And  in  our  absence,  Jacques  Bonhomme,  who  seems  to 
indulge  in  dreams  of  revolt,  will  put  in  fine  strokes !" 

"By  heavens,  messieurs!"  cried  a  young  knight,  "We,  never- 
theless, may  not,  to  the  shame  of  knighthood,  remain  barracked 
on  our  own  manors  while  battles  are  being  fought  on  the  fron- 
tier." 

"Well!  And  who  keeps  you  back,  my  dear  fire-eater?"  cried 
the  Count  of  Chivry.  "Are  you  curious  to  make  acquaintance 
with  war  ?  Very  well ;  depart  quickly,  and  soon  .  .  .  Each 
one  disposes  at  his  will  of  his  own  person  and  men." 

"As  to  me,"  loudly  put  in  the  radiant  Gloriande  with  fiery 
indignation,  "I  shall  not  bestow  my  hand  on  Conrad  of  Nointel 
if  he  does  not  depart  for  the  war,  and  return  crowned  with  the 
laurels  of  victory,  leading  to  my  feet  ten  Englishmen  in  chains. 
Shame  and  disgrace!  Gallant  knights  to  stay  at  home  when 
their  King  calls  them  to  arms !  I  shall  not  acknowledge  for  my 
lord  and  husband  any  but  a  valiant  knight !" 

Despite  Gloriande's  heroic  words  and  a  few  other  rare  pro- 
tests against  the  selfish  and  ignominious  cowardice  of  the  larger 
number  of  seigneurs,  a  general  murmur  of  approval  received 
the  words  of  the  aged  seigneur  of  Chivry,  who,  encouraged  by 


54  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

the  almost  unanimous  support  of  the  assembly,  stepped  upon 
his  bench  and  answered  the  herald  in  a  stentorian  voice : 

"Sir,  in  the  name  of  the  nobility  of  Beauvoisis,  I  now  answer 
you  that  we  have  our  hands  so  full  on  our  own  domains,  that  it 
would  be  disastrous  for  us  to  take  the  -field  in  distant  regions. 
For  the  rest,  the  request  of  the  King  will  be  considered  when 
the  deputies  of  the  nobility  and  the  clergy  shall  be  assembled 
in  the  States  General  of  the  Kingdom.  Until  then  we  shall  re- 
main at  home." 

A  sudden  outburst  of  hisses  from  the  crowd  of  peasants  and 
bourgeois  answered  the  words  of  the  seigneur  of  Chivry;  and 
Adam  the  Devil,  leaving  Jocelyn  the  Champion  for  a  moment 
alone  with  Mazurec,  who,  having  regained  consciousness,  was 
resignedly  expecting  the  hour  of  his  death,  thrust  himself  among 
several  groups  of  serfs  saying: 

"Do  you  hear  them?  Fine  seigneurs  they  are!  .  .  . 
What  are  they  good  for?  .  .  .  Only  to  combat  in  tourneys 
with  pointless  lances  and  edgeless  swords,  or  to  indulge  in 
bravados  in  combats,  where  they  are  fully  armed,  against  Jacques 
Bonhomme,  armed  only  with  a  stick  !" 

"That's  so!"  answered  several  angry  voices.  "To  the  devil 
with  the  nobility!" 

"Poor  Mazurec  the  Lambkin!  It  is  enough  to  make  one's 
heart  ache  to  see  his  face  bleeding  under  the  iron  gauntlet  of  the 
Knight." 

"And  now  they  are  to  put  him  in  a  bag  and  throw  him  into  the 
water!  ...  I  declare  .  .  .  That's  what  they  call  jus- 
tice ..." 

"Ah!  When,  thanks  to  the  cowardice  of  our  seigneurs,  the 
English  will  have  penetrated  to  this  region,"  resumed  Adam  the 
Devil,  "what  with  our  masters  on  one  side  and  the  English  on 
the  other,  we  shall  be  like  iron  beaten  on  the  anvil  by  the  ham- 
mer. Oppressed  by  these,  pillaged  and  sacked  by  the  others, 
our  lot  will  be  twice  as  hard.  Woe  is  us !" 

"That's  what  happens  now  when  bands  of  marauders  descend 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  55 

upon  our  villages.  We  flee  for  safety  to  the  woods,  and  when 
we  return,  we  find  our  homes  in  flames  or  in  ashes !" 

"0,  God !     What  a  lot  is  ours !" 

"And  yet  our  vicar  says  that  secures  our  salvation  .  *  „ 
in  heaven !  Another  fraud  upon  us !" 

"Woe  is  us  if  on  top  of  all  our  ills  we  are  to  be  ravaged 
and  tortured  by  the  English.  That  means  our  end." 

"Yes,  and  we  are  all  to  go  down  through  the  cowardice  of  our 
seigneurs,"  put  in  Adam  the  Devil,  "themselves,  their  families 
and  retainers  safely  entrenched  and  provisioned  in  their  fortified 
castles,  they  will  allow  us  to  be  pillaged  and  massacred  by  the 
English !  Oh !  What  a  fate  is  in  store  for  us !" 

"And  when  everything  we  have  will  have  been  devastated," 
replied  another  serf  in  despair,  "our  seigneur  will  then  tell  us, 
as  he  told  us  when  the  last  gang  of  marauders  passed  over  the 
region  like  a  hurricane:  'Pay  your  taxes,  Jacques  Bonhomme/ 
*But,  Sire,  the  marauders  have  carried  away  everything;  they 
have  left  us  only  our  eyes  to  weep  with,  and  we  weep!'  'Oh, 
you  rebel,  Jacques  Bonhomme!  Give  him  quick  a  beating  and 
put  him  to  the  torture !'  Oh,  it  is  too  much  ...  too  much ! 
,  ,  .  That  must  end.  Death  to  the  nobles  and  their  helpers, 
the  clergy !" 

The  murmurs  among  the  rustic  plebs,  at  first  low  and 
rumbling,  presently  broke  out  into  loud  hisses  and  impreca- 
tions, and  these  were  so  menacing  and  direct  against  the  nobles, 
that  the  seigneurs,  for  a  moment  taken  aback  by  the  incredible 
audacity  of  Jacques  Bonhomme,  bridled  up  furiously,  drew 
their  swords,  and,  in  the  midst  of  alarmed  cries  of  the  elder 
and  younger  ladies,  precipitately  descended  the  steps  of  the  plat- 
form to  chastise  the  varlets  at  the  head  of  the  sergeants  of  the 
tourney,  their  own  men-at-arms  and  also  of  those  of  the  royal 
herald,  who  promptly  sided  with  the  noblemen  against  the 
plebs. 

"Friends,"  cried  Adam  the  Devil,  rushing  from  one  group 
of  the  serfs  to  another  to  inflame  their  courage,  "if  the  seigneurs 


56  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

are  a  hundred,  we  are  a  thousand.  Have  you  not  a  minute  ago 
seen  Mazurec  unhorse  a  knight  all  alone,  with  his  stick  and  onljp 
a  handful  of  sand?  Let's  prove  those  nobles  that  we  are  not 
afraid  of  them.  Pick  up  stones  and  sticks!  Let's  deliver 
Mazurec  the  Lambkin !  Death  to  the  nobles !" 

"Yes!  Take  up  stones  and  sticks!  Let's  deliver  Mazurec'." 
responded  the  more  daring  ones.  "The  devil  take  the  seigneurs 
who  wish  to  leave  us  at  the  mercy  of  the  English !" 

Under  the  pressure  of  this  furious  mob  a  portion  of  the  barrier 
around  the  lists  was  soon  torn  up  and  a  large  number  of  vassals 
arming  themselves  with  the  debris  of  the  fence,  redoubled  their 
threats  and  imprecations  against  the  seigneurs.  Attracted  by 
the  tumult  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  Adam  the  Devil,  who  witb 
glistening  eyes  was  brandishing  one  of  the  posts  of  the  barrier, 
Jocelyn  left  Mazurec  and  ran  towards  the  serf  to  whom  he  cried 
out:  "Those  wretches  will  be  mowed  down  .  .  .  you  will 
lose  everything  .  .  .  The  right  time  has  not  yet  come !" 

"It  is  always  in  time  to  kill  noblemen,"  answered  Adam  the 
Devil,  grinding  his  teeth,  saying  which  he  redoubled  his  voci- 
ferations :  "Stones  and  sticks !  Let's  deliver  Mazurec !" 

"But  you  lose  him  by  that !"  cried  Jocelyn  in  despair.  "You 
will  lose  him !  I  hoped  to  save  him !"  and  turning  to  the  sur- 
rounding serfs  he  said :  "Do  not  attack  the  seigneurs ;  you  are 
in  the  open  field,  they  on  horseback ;  you  will  be  trampled  under 
foot.  Come,  now !  Disperse !" 

The  voice  of  Jocelyn  was  lost  in  the  tumult,  and  his  efforts 
remained  fruitless  in  the  midst  of  the  exasperation  of  the 
mob.  A  reflux  of  the  crowd  separated  him  from  Adam  the 
Devil,  and  soon  the  foresight  of  the  champion  was  but  too  well 
verified.  For  a  moment  taken  by  surprise  and  even  frightened 
at  the  aggressive  attitude  of  Jacques  Bonhomme,  a  spectacle 
they  had  never  before  witnessed,  the  seigneurs  presently  re- 
covered their  composure.  Headed  by  the  Sire  of  Nointel  and 
supported  by  about  fifty  men-at-arms,  sergeants  and  knights 
who  speedily  mounted  their  horses,  the  armed  nobility  now 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  57 

advanced  in  good  order,  and  charged  upon  the  revolted  serfs 
with  swords  and  lances.  The  women  and  children  who  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  crowd,  were  thrown  down  and  trampled  over 
by  the  horses,  and  filled  the  air  with  their  heart-rending  cries. 
The  peasants,  without  order  and  without  leadership,  and  al- 
ready frightened  at  their  own  audacity  whose  consequences  they 
now  dreaded,  fled  in  all  directions  over  the  meadow.  Some  few 
of  the  more  valorous  and  determined  stood  their  ground  and 
were  either  cut  down  by  the  knights  or  severely  wounded  and 
taken  prisoners.  In  the  heat  of  the  fray,  Adam  the  Devil,  who 
had  been  thrown  down  by  a  sabre  cut,  was  seeking  to  rise  when 
he  felt  a  Herculean  hand  seize  him  by  the  collar,  raise  him 
and  despite  his  resistance,  drag  him  far  away  from  the  field 
of  carnage.  The  serf  recognized  Jocelyn  who  said  to  him  while 
dragging  him  along:  "You  will  be  a  precious  man  on  the  day 
of  uprising  .  .  .  but  to  allow  yourself  to  be  killed  to-day 
is  an  act  of  folly  ...  Come,  let  us  preserve  ourselves  for  a 
later  day." 

"Mazurec  is  lost!"  cried  the  serf  in  the  agony  of  despair 
and  struggling  against  Jocelyn;  but  the  latter,  without  making 
answer,  compelled  Adam  the  Devil,  who  was  greatly  enfeebled 
by  the  loss  of  blood,  to  take  shelter  behind  a  heap  of  lumber  that 
had  been  brought  thither  for  the  construction  of  the  barrier 
around  the  lists,  but  had  been  found  unnecessary.  Both  lay 
themselves  down  flat  upon  the  grass. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 
PROPHECIES  AND  PREMONITIONS. 

The  sun  has  gone  down;  night  is  drawing  nigh.  The  noble 
dames,  frightened  by  the  recent  popular  commotion,  have  left 
the  platform  of  the  tourney  and  returned  to  their  manors  either 
on  their  palfreys  or  on  the  cruppers  of  their  cavaliers'  horses. 
At  a  short  distance  from  the  lists  where  lay  the  corpses  of  a  con- 
siderable number  of  serfs,  killed  in  their  futile  attempt  at  revolt, 
flows  the  Orville  River.  On  one  side  its  banks  are  precipitous, 
but  on  the  other  they  slope  gently,  covered  with  reeds.  The 
river  is  crossed  by  a  wooden  bridge.  To  the  right  of  the  bridge 
are  a  few  old  willows.  Their  branches  have  almost  all  been 
freshly  lopped  off  with  axes.  The  few  remaining  ones,  strongly 
supported  and  spreading  out,  have  been  turned  into  gibbets.  From 
them  now  hang  the  bodies  of  four  of  the  vassals  who  had  been 
captured  in  the  revolt.  The  pendent  bodies  resemble  shadows 
cast  upon  the  clear  sky  of  the  dusk.  Night  approaches  rapidly. 
Standing  on  the  middle  of  the  bridge  surrounded  by  his  friends, 
among  whom  is  Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  the  Sire  of  Nointel 
makes  a  sign,  and  the  last  of  the  revolted  and  captured  serfs  is, 
despite  his  cries  and  entreaties,  hanged  like  his  companions  from 
a  branch  of  a  willow  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  A  man  then 
brings  to  the  bridge  a  large  bag  of  coarse  grey  material,  of  the 
kind  used  by  the  millers.  A  strong  cord  inserted  at  its  mouth 
like  a  purse-string  enables  its  being  tied  closely.  Mazurec  the 
Lambkin  is  led  forward  tightly  pinioned.  Up  to  then  he  had 
been  seated  at  one  end  of  the  bridge  near  the  vicar.  The  latter 
after  having  placed  the  crucifix  to  the  mouths  of  the  serfs  that 
had  been  hanged,  returned  to  the  victim  about  to  be  drowned. 
Mazurec  is  no  longer  recognizable.  His  bruised  face  covered 
with  clotted  blood  is  hideous  to  behold.  One  of  his  eyes  has 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  59 

been  knocked  out  and  his  nose  crushed  under  the  fierce  blows 
dealt  him  by  the  knight  of  Chaumontel  with  his  iron  gauntlet. 
The  executioner  opens  the  mouth  of  the  bag  while  the  bailiff 
of  the  seigniory  approaches  Mazurec  and  says:  "Vassal,  your 
felony  is  notorious;  you  have  dared  to  charge  Gerard,  a  noble- 
man of  Chaumontel,  with  robbery;  he  appealed  to  a  judicial 
duel  where  you  were  vanquished  and  convicted  of  calumny  and 
defamation;  in  obedience  to  the  royal  ordinance,  you  are  to  be 
submerged  until  death  does  ensue.  Such  is  the  supreme  and 
irrevocable  sentence." 

Mazurec  steps  forward,  and  as  he  is  about  to  be  seized  and 
thrust  into  the  bag,  he  raises  his  head,  and  addressing  the  Sire 
of  Nointel  and  Gerard,  says  to  them  as  if  inspired  with  prophetic 
exaltation : 

"It  is  said  among  our  people  that  those  about  to  perish  be- 
come seers.  Now,  this  is  what  I  foretell :  Gerard  of  Chaumon- 
tel, you  robbed  me  and  now  you  have  me  drowned  .  .  .  you 
will  die  drowned.  Sire  of  Nointel,  you  have  done  violence  to 
my  wife  .  .  .  your  wife  will  be  done  violence  to.  Mayhap 
my  wife  may  bring  to  the  world  the  child  of  a  noble ;  . 
your  wife  may  bring  to  the  world  the  child  of  a  serf.  May 
God  take  charge  of  my  vengeance.  The  day  of  reprisals  will 
come !" 

Mazurec  the  Lambkin  had  barely  uttered  these  words  when 
the  executioner  proceeded  to  tie  him  up  in  the  bag.  Conrad 
grew  pale  and  shivered  at  the  sinister  prophecy  of  his  vassal, 
and  was  unable  to  utter  a  word.  Gerard,  however,  addressing 
the  serf  who  was  being  "bagged"  burst  out  laughing  and  pointed 
to  the  five  hanged  serfs  who  rocked  in  the  evening  breeze,  and 
whose  outlines  were  dimly  perceptible  like  spectres  in  the 
twilight,  said : 

"Look  at  the  corpses  of  those  villeins  who  dared  to  rebel  against 
their  seigneurs!  Look  at  the  water  that  runs  under  the  bridge 
and  that  is  about  to  swallow  you  up  ...  should  Jacques 
Bonhomiae  still  dare  to  kick,  there  are  our  long  lances  to  pierce 


60  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

him  through,  wide  branched  trees  to  hang,  and  rivers  to  drown 
him." 

Mazurec  was  the  while  tied  in  the  bag,  and  at  the  moment 
when  the  executioner  was  about  to  hurl  him  into  the  river, 
the  vassal's  voice  was  heard  for  the  last  time  from  within  the 
canvas.  "Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  you  will  be  drowned;  Sire  of 
Nointel,  your  wife  will  be  violated  . 

A  peal  of  contemptuous  laughter  from  the  knight  answered 
the  serf's  prediction,  and  amidst  the  silence  of  night  the  splash 
was  heard  of  Mazurec's  body  dropping  into  the  deep  waters  of 
the  river. 

"Come  away,  come  away,"  said  the  Sire  of  Nointel  to  Gerard 
in  a  faltering  voice;  "let's  return  to  the  castle;  this  place 
frightens  me.  The  prophecy  of  that  miserable  villein  makes 
me  shudder  despite  myself  .  .  .  He  mentioned  reprisals." 

"What  feebleness !    Conrad,  are  you  becoming  weak-minded  ?" 

"Everything  that  happened  to-day  is  of  ill-omen.  I  tremble  at 
the  future." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  replied  Gerard,  following  his  friend, 
who  was  walking  away  at  a  rapid  pace.  "What  is  that  you  said 
about  ill-omen?  Come,  explain  the  cause  of  your  terror." 

"This  evening,  before  returning  to  Chivry,  Gloriande  said  to 
me:  'Conrad,  to-morrow  my  father  celebrates  our  betrothal  in 
the  chapel  of  his  castle ;  I  desire  that  you  depart  that  same  evp 
ning  to  join  the  forces  of  the  King;  and  even  then  I  shall  not 
be  your  wife  unless  you  lead  back  from  battle  and  place  at  my 
feet,  as  a  pledge  of  your  bravery,  ten  Englishmen  in  chains  and 
captured  by  yourself/  " 

"The  devil  take  such  folly!"  cried  Gerard.  "The  romances 
of  knighthood  have  turned  her  head !" 

"I  wish/  added  Gloriande,  'that  my  husband  be  illustrious 
by  his  prowesses.  Therefore,  Conrad,  to-morrow  I  shall  take 
the  oath  at  the  altar  to  finish  my  days  in  a  monastery,  if  you  are 
killed  in  battle,  or  if  you  fail  in  the  promises  that  I  have  de- 
manded of  you !' " 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  61 

"By  the  saints!  That  girl  is  gone  daft  on  her  Englishmen 
in  chains.  There  are  only  blows  to  be  fetched  in  war,  and 
your  betrothed  runs  the  chances  of  seeing  you  return  without 
an  eye,  a  leg  or  an  arm  ...  if  you  do  return  .  .  .  The 
devil  take  her  whims !" 

"I  am  bound  to  yield  to  Gloriande's  wishes.  There  is  no  more 
stubborn  head  than  hers.  Besides,  she  loves  me  as  I  do  her. 
Her  wealth  is  considerable.  I  have  dissipated  a  good  part  of 
my  fortune  at  the  court  of  King  John.  I  cannot  renounce  the 
marriage.  Whatever  it  may  cost  me,  I  must  join  the  army  with 
my  men.  Sad  it  is,  but  there  is  no  choice  I" 

"Be  it  so !  But  then  fight  .  .  .  prudently  and  moderate- 
ly." 

"I  am  anxious  to  live  so  that  I  may  marry  Gloriande  .  .  . 
provided  during  my  absence  the  prediction  of  that  miserable 
vassal — " 

"Ho!  Ho!  Ho !"  broke  in  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  laughing 
out  aloud.  "You  surely  are  not  troubled  with  the  fear  that 
during  your  absence  Jacques  Bonhomme  will  violate  your  wife  ?" 

"These  villeins,  an  unheard  of  thing,  have  dared  to  insult,  to 
menace  and  to  throw  themselves  upon  us  like  the  wild  beasts 
that  they  are." 

"And  you  saw  that  rag-tag  flee  before  our  horses  like  a  set 
of  hares.  The  executions  of  this  evening  will  complete  the 
lesson,  and  Jacques  Bonhomme  will  remain  the  Jacques  Bon- 
homme of  ever.  Come !  Make  your  mind  easy !  While  I  pre- 
fer a  hundred  times  the  hunt,  the  tourneys,  wine,  game  and 
love  to  the  stupid  and  dangerous  feats  of  war,  I  shall  accompany 
you  to  the  army,  so  as  to  bring  you  back  soon  to  the  beautiful 
Gloriande.  As  to  the  English  prisoners  that  you  are  to  lead  in 
chains  to  her  feet  as  a  pledge  of  your  valor,  we  shall  scrape  to- 
gether a  few  leagues  from  our  lady's  manor  the  first  varlets 
that  we  can  lay  our  hands  on.  We  shall  bind  them  and  threaten 
them  with  hanging  if  they  utter  a  single  word }  ajid  they  will  do 


6a  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

well  enough  for  the  ten  English  prisoners.     Is  not  the  idea  a 
jolly  one?    But,  Conrad,  what  are  you  brooding  over?" 

"Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  exercising  my  right  over  that 
vassal's  wife,"  replied  the  Sire  of  Nointel  with  a  somber  and 
pensive  mien.  "It  was  a  mere  libertine  caprice,  because  I  love 
G-loriande.  But  the  resistance  of  the  scamp,  who,  besides, 
charged  you  with  theft,  irritated  me."  And  resuming  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  the  Sire  of  Nointel  addressed  his  friend: 
"Tell  me  the  truth;  here  among  ourselves;  did  you  really  rob 
the  villein?  It  would  have  been  an  amusing  trick  ...  I 
only  would  like  to  know  if  you  really  did  it?" 

"Conrad,  the  suspicion  is  insulting — " 

"Oh,  it  is  not  in  the  interest  of  the  dead  serf  that  I  put  the 
question,  but  it  is  in  my  own." 

"How?    Explain  yourself  more  clearly." 

"If  that  vassal  has  been  unjustly  drowned  ...  his 
prophecy  would  have  more  weight." 

"By  heavens !  Are  you  quite  losing  your  wits,  Conrad  ?  Do 
you  see  me  saddened  because  Jacques  Bonhomme  has  predicted 
to  me  that  I  was  to  be  drowned?  .  .  .  The  devil!  It  is  I 
who  mean  to  drown  your  sadness  in  a  cup  of  good  Burgundy 
wine  .  .  .  Come,  Conrad,  to  horse  ...  to  horse! 
.  .  .  Supper  waits,  and  after  the  feast  pretty  female  serfs! 
Long  live  joy  and  love !  Let's  reach  the  manor  in  a  canter — " 

"Perhaps  I  did  wrong  in  forcing  the  serf's  wife,"  the  Sire 
of  Nointel  repeated  to  himself.  "I  know  not  why,  but  a  tradi- 
tion, handed  down  from  the  elder  branch  of  my  family,  located 
at  Auvergne,  comes  back  to  me  at  this  moment.  The  tradition 
has  it  that  the  hatred  of  the  serfs  has  often  been  fatal  to  the 
Nerowegs !" 

"Hallo,  Conrad,  to  horse !  Your  valet  has  been  holding  your 
stirrup  for  the  last  hour,"  broke  in  the  cheerful  voice  of  Gerard. 
"What  are  you  thinking  about  ?" 

"I  should  not  have  violated  the  vassal's  wife,"  the  Sire  of 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  63 

Nbintel  still  mumbled  while  swinging  himself  on  his  horse's 
back,  and  taking  the  route  to  his  manor  accompanied  by  Gerard 
of  Chaumontel. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
WRECKED  HEARTS. 

The  ground  floor  of  the  house  of  Alison  the  Huffy  is  closed. 
A  lamp  burns  inside,  but  the  door  and  windows  are  bolted 
within.  Aveline-who-never-lied  lies  half  stretched  out  upon  a 
bench.  Her  hands  lie  across  her  breast,  her  head  reclines  on  the 
knees  of  Alison.  She  would  be  thought  asleep  were  it  not  for  the 
tremors  that  periodically  convulse  her  frame.  Her  discolored 
visage  bears  the  traces  of  the  tears,  which,  rarer  now,  still  oc- 
casionally escape  from  her  swollen  eyelids.  The  tavern-keeper 
contemplates  iihe  unfortunate  girl  with  an  expression  of  pro- 
found pity.  William  Caillet,  seated  near  by,  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  his  forehead  in  his  hands,  takes  not  his  eyes  from 
his  daughter.  He  remembered  Alison,  and  relying  on  her  kind- 
heartedness,  had  taken  Aveline  to  the  tavern  with  the  aid  of 
Adam  the  Devil,  who  immediately  had  gone  out  again  to  the 
tourney  to  meet  Jocelyn  the  Champion,  by  whom  he  was  later 
snatched  from  the  fray. 

Suddenly  sitting  up  affrighted,  Aveline  cried  semi-delirious: 
"They  are  drowning  him  ...  I  see  it  ...  He  is 
drowned!  .  .  .  Did  you  not  hear  the  splash  of  his  body 

dropping  into   the  water?     .     .     .     My   bridegroom   is   dead 
» 

"Dear  daughter,"  said  Alison,  breaking  into  tears,  "calm  your- 
self .  .  .  Have  confidence  in  God  .  .  .  They  may  have 
had  mercy  upon  him — " 

"She  is  right  .  .  .  This  is  the  hour,"  said  William  Caillet 
in  a  low  hollow  voice.  "Mazurec  was  to  be  drowned  at  night- 
fall. Patience!  Every  night  has  its  morn.  The  unfortunate 
man  will  be  avenged," 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  65 

Hearing  a  rap  at  the  door,  Alison,  who  was  holding  Aveline 
in  her  arms,  turned  to  William :  "Who  can  it  be  at  this  hour  ?" 

The  old  peasant  rose,  approached  the  door  and  asked :  "Who's 
that?" 

"I,  Jocelyn  the  Champion,"  a  voice  answered. 

"Oh !"  murmured  Aveline's  father,  "he  comes  from  the  river" ; 
saying  which  he  opened. 

Jocelyn  entered  with  quick  steps.  At  the  sight,  however,  of 
Mazurec's  wife,  held  in  a  swooning  condition  in  the  arms  of 
Alison,  he  stopped  short,  turned  to  Caillet,  and  whispered  to 
him :  "He  is  saved  !" 

"He  ?"  cried  the  serf  stupified.     "Saved  ?" 

"Silence!"  said  Jocelyn,  pointing  to  Aveline.  "Such  news 
may  prove  fatal  if  too  suddenly  conveyed." 

"Where  is  he?     Where  did  he  take  refuge?" 

"Adam  is  bringing  him  hither  .  .  .  He  can  hardly  stand 
.  .  .  I  came  ahead  of  them  .  .  .  He  is  weeping  in- 
cessantly .  .  .  We  came  across  the  field  .  .  .  The  cur- 
few has  sounded.  We  met  nobody.  Poor  Mazurec  is  saved — " 

"I  shall  go  out  to  meet  him,"  said  Caillet,  panting  with  emo- 
tion. "Poor  Mazurec !  Dear  son !  Dear  child !" 

Jocelyn  approached  Aveline,  who,  with  her  arms  around  Ali- 
son's neck  was  sobbing  bitterly.  "Aveline,"  said  Jocelyn  to 
her,  "listen  to  me,  please.  Have  courage  and  confidence — '' 

"He  is  dead,"  murmured  Aveline  moaning  and  not  heeding 
Jocelyn.  "They  have  drowned  him." 

"No  ...  he  is  not  dead,"  Jocelyn  went  on  saying. 
"There  is  hope  of  saving  him." 

"Good  God!"  cried  Alison,  now  weeping  with  joy  and  em- 
bracing Aveline  in  a  transport  of  happiness.  "Do  you  hear,  dear 
little  one  ?  He  is  not  dead." 

Aveline  joined  her  hands  and  essayed  to  speak,  but  the  words 
died  away  on  her  lips  that  trembled  convulsively. 

"This  is  what  happened,"  explained  Jocelyn.  "Mazurec  was 
put  into  a  bag  and  he  was  thrown  into  the  water.  Fortunately, 


66  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

however,"  Jocelyn  hastened  to  add,  seeing  Aveline  utter  a  smoth- 
ered cry,  "Adam  the  Devil  and  myself,  profiting  by  the  darkness, 
had  hidden  ourselves  among  the  reeds  that  border  the  bank  of 
the  river  about  a  hundred  paces  from  the  bridge.  The  current 
was  toward  us.  With  the  aid  of  a  long  pole  we  sought  to  drag 
towards  us  the  bag  in  which  Mazurec  was  tied  up,  and  to  pull  him 
out  in  time." 

"Oh !"  stammered  the  young  girl,    "Help  came  too  late." 

"No,  no!  Calm  yourself.  We  succeeded  in  drawing  the  bag 
to  the  bank.  Adam  cut  it  open  with  one  rip  of  his  knife,  and 
we  took  Mazurec  out  of  the  canvas  still  breathing." 

"He  lives !"  exclaimed  the  girl  in  a  delirium  of  joy.  Her  first 
movement  was  to  precipitate  herself  towards  the  door,  and 
there  she  fell  in  the  arms  of  her  father,  who,  having  just  re- 
turned, stood  on  the  threshold. 

"Yes,  he  lives !"  said  Caillet  to  his  daughter,  closing  her  to  his 
breast.  "He  lives  .  .  .  and  he  is  here!" 

That  same  instant  Mazurec  appeared  at  the  threshold,  pale, 
faint,  dripping  water,  his  face  unrecognizable,  and  supported 
by  Adam  the  Devil.  Instead  of  running  to  the  encounter  of  her 
husband,  Aveline  staggered  back  frightened  and  cried:  "It  is 
not  he !" 

She  did  not  recognize  Mazurec.  His  crushed  eye,  encircled 
with  black  and  blue  concussions,  his  crushed  nose,  his  lips  split 
and  swollen,  so  completely  changed  his  once  sweet  and  attractive 
features,  that  the  hesitation  of  the  vassal's  wife  lasted  several 
seconds ;  but  soon  recovered  from  her  painful  surprise,  she  threw 
herself  at  the  neck  of  Mazurec,  and  kissed  his  wounds  with 
frantic  excitement. 

Mazurec  returned  the  embrace  of  his  wife  and  murmured 
sadly:  "Oh,  poor  wife  .  .  .  although  I  still  live,  yet  you 
are  a  widow." 

These  words,  reminding  as  they  did  the  young  couple  that  they 
were  forever  separated  by  the  infamous  outrage  that  Aveline 
had  been  the  victim  of  and  that  might  mean  maternity  to  her, 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  67 

caused  them  both  to  break  forth  into  a  flood  of  tears  that  flowed 
while  they  remained  closely  locked  in  a  gloomy  and  mute  em- 
brace. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  William  Caillet,  even  whose  harsh  features 
were  now  moistened  with  tears  at  the  sight  of  the  ill-starred 
couple,  "to  avenge  them  .  .  .  How  much  blood  .  .  . 
Oh!  how  much  blood  .  .  .  What  conflagrations  .  .  . 
what  massacres  .  .  .  the  reprisals  must  be  terrible." 

"That  seigniorial  race  must  be  strangled  out  of  existence," 
put  in  Adam  the  Devil,  biting  his  nails  with  suppressed  rage. 
"They  must  be  extirpated  .  .  .  they  must  be  killed  off 
.  .  .  all  of  them  .  .  .  even  the  whelps  in  the  cradle 
.  .  .  not  a  vestige  of  the  seigniory  must  be  left  in  existence." 
And  turning  to  Jocelyn,  the  peasant  added  with  savage  reproach : 
"And  you,  you  tell  U3  to  be  patient — " 

"Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn,  interrupting  him ;  "yes,  patience,  if 
you  wish  on  one  day  to  avenge  the  millions  of  slaves,  serfs  and 
villeins  of  our  race,  who  for  centuries  have  been  dying,  crushed 
down,  tortured  and  massacred  by  the  seigneurs.  Yes,  patience, 
if  you  desire  that  your  vengeance  be  fruitful  and  accomplish 
the  deliverance  of  your  brothers !  To  that  end  I  conjure  you, 
and  you,  Caillet,  also — no  partial  revolts!  Let  all  the  serfs 
of  Gaul  rise  simultaneously,  on  one  day,  at  the  same  signal. 
The  seigniorial  race  will  not  see  the  morrow  of  that  day." 

"To  wait,"  replied  Adam  the  Devil,  scowling  with  impatience ; 
"always  to  wait !" 

"And  when  will  the  signal  of  revolt  come?"  asked  Caillet. 
"Whence  is  it  to  come?  Answer  me  that!" 

"It  will  come  from  Paris,  the  city  of  revolts  and  of  popular 
uprisings,"  answered  Jocelyn ;  "and  that  will  be  within  shortly." 

"From  Paris,"  exclaimed  the  two  peasants  in  a  voice  expressive 
of  astonishment  and  doubt.  "What !  Those  Parisians  .  .  . 
will, they  be  ready  to  revolt?" 

"Like  you,  the  Parisians  are  tired  of  the  outrages  and  exac- 
tions of  the  seigneurs;  like  you,  the  Parisians  are  tired  of  the 


68  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

thieveries  of  King  John  and  his  court,  both  of  whom  ruin  and 
starve  the  country;  like  you,  they  are  tired  of  the  cowardice 
of  the  nobility,  the  only  armed  force  in  the  country,  and  that, 
nevertheless,  allows  Gaul  to  be  ravaged  by  the  English;  finally, 
the  Parisians  are  tired  of  praying  and  remonstrating  with  the 
King  to  obtain  from  him  the  reform  of  execrable  abuses.  The 
Parisians  are,  therefore,  decided  to  appeal  to  arms  against  the 
royalty.  The  rupture  of  the  truce  with  the  English,  just  an- 
nounced by  the  royal  messenger,  will  undoubtedly  hasten  the 
hour  of  revolt.  However,  until  that  solemn  hour  shall  sound, 
patience,  or  all  is  lost." 

"And  these  Parisians,"  replied  Caillet  with  redoubled  atten- 
tion, "who  directs  them  ?  Have  they  a  leader  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn  with  enthusiasm,  "a  most  courageous, 
wise  and  good  man.  He  is  an  honor  to  our  country !" 

"And  his  name?" 

"Etienne  Marcel,  a  bourgeois,  a  draper,  and  provost  of  the 
councilmen  of  Paris.  The  whole  people  are  with  him  because 
he  aims  at  the  welfare  and  the  enfranchisement  of  the  people. 
A  large  number  of  the  bourgeois  of  the  communal  towns,  that 
have  fallen  back  into  the  royal  power  and  who  are  ready  to  rise, 
are  in  touch  with  Marcel.  But  he  realizes  that  the  bourgeois 
and  artisans  would  be  guilty  of  a  wicked  act  if  they  did  not 
offer  their  advice  and  help  to  the  serfs  of  the  country  and  aid 
them  also  to  break  the  yoke  of  the  seigneurs.  By  acting  in  con- 
cert— serfs,  artisans  and  bourgeois — we  could  easily  prevail  over 
the  seigneurs  and  the  royal  house.  Count  ourselves;  count  our 
oppressors.  How  many  are  they  ?  A  few  thousand  at  the  most, 
while  we  are  millions !" 

"That's  true,"  said  Caillet,  exchanging  looks  of  approval  with 
Adam.  "The  towns  and  the  country  combined,  that's  the  world ! 
The  seigneurs  and  their  clergy  are  insignificant." 

"I  came  to  this  place,"  proceeded  Jocelyn  ,"by  the  advice  of 
Etienne  Marcel,  calculating  that,  as  a  rule,  tourneys  attract  a 
large  number  of  vassals.  I  was  to  ascertain  whether  the  senti- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  69 

ment  of  rebellion  existed  in  this  province  as  it  did  in  others. 
I  have  no  longer  any  doubt  on  the  subject.  I  have  met  you, 
William  and  Adam,  and  no  longer  ago  than  this  afternoon  I 
have  seen,  much  as  I  regretted  the  partial  and  hasty  move- 
ment, that  Jacques  Bonhomme,  tired  of  his  burden  of  shame, 
misery  and  sufferings,  is  ripe  for  action.  I  shall  now  return 
to  Paris  with  a  heart  full  of  hope.  Therefore,  patience! 
Friends,  patience !  Soon  will  be  the  hour  of  reprisals  sound, 
the  hour  of  inexorable  justice.  Then,  death  to  our  oppressors !" 

"Yes/'  answered  Caillet;  "we  shall  settle  the  accounts  of  our 
ancestors  .  .  .  and  I  shall  settle  the  accounts  of  my  daugh- 
ter ...  Do  you  see  my  child?  Do  you?"  and  the  old 
peasant  pointed  to  Aveline  who  sat  near  Mazurec.  Overcome 
with  sorrow,  mute,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor  and  holding 
each  other's  hands  the  smitten  couple  presented  a  picture  of  un- 
utterable woe. 

"But  coming  to  think  of  it,"  said  Jocelyn.  "Mazurec  cannot 
remain  in  this  territory." 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  rejoined  Caillet.  "To-night  I  shall 
return  to  Cramoisy  with  my  daughter  and  her  husband.  I  know 
a  grotto  in  the  thickest  part  of  the  forest.  The  hiding-place 
was  long  of  service  to  Adam.  I  shall  take  Mazurec  thither. 
Every  night  my  daughter  will  take  to  him  a  share  of  our  pit- 
tance. The  poor  child  feels  so  desolate  that  to  separate  her  en- 
tirely from  her  husband  would  be  to  kill  her.  He  shall  remain 
in  hiding  until  the  day  of  vengeance  shall  have  arrived.  You 
may  rely  on  me,  upon  Adam  and  upon  many  others." 

"But  who  will  give  the  signal  at  which  the  towns  and  country 
folks  are  to  rise  ?"  asked  Adam  the  Devil. 

"Paris,"  responded  Jocelyn.  "Before  long  I  shall  have 
moneys  brought  to  you,  or  I  may  bring  them  myself,  with  which 
to  purchase  arms.  Be  careful  not  to  awaken  the  suspicions  of  the 
seigneurs.  Buy  your  arms  one  by  one  in  town  ...  at  fairs, 
and  hide  them  at  home.  If  you  know  any  safe  blacksmiths,  get 
them  to  turn  out  pikes  .  .  ,  town  money  will  furnish  you 


70  THE  IRON   T REVET. 

with  iron  .  .  .  and  with  iron  you  will  be  able  to  purchase 
revenge  and  freedom.  Who  has  iron  has  bread !" 

A  prolonged  neighing  just  outside  the  door  interrupted  the 
conversation.  "It  is  Phoebus,  my  horse/'  cried  Jocelyn,  agree- 
ably reminded  that  he  had  left  the  animal  tied  close  to  the  tour- 
ney. "He  must  have  grown  tired  of  waiting  for  me,  must  have 
snapped  the  strap  and  returned  to  the  tavern  after  me,  where, 
however,  he  has  been  only  once  before.  Brave  Phoebus,"  Jocelyn 
added,  proceeding  to  the  door.  "This  is  not  the  first  proof 
of  intelligence  that  he  has  given  me/'  Hardly  had  Jocelyn 
opened  the  upper  part  of  the  door  than  the  head  of  Phoebus  ap- 
peared; the  animal  neighed  anew  and  licked  the  hands  of  his 
master,  who  said  to  him :  "Good  friend,  you  shall  have  a  good 
supply  of  oats,  and  then  we  shall  take  the  road/' 

"What,  Sir,  you  intend  to  depart  this  very  night?"  asked 
Alison  the  Huffy,  drying  her  tears  that  had  not  ceased  to  flow 
since  the  return  of  Mazurec.  "Do  you  mean  to  depart,  despite 
the  dark  and  the  rain  ?  Remain  with  us  at  least  until  to-morrow 
morning." 

"The  royal  messenger  has  brought  tidings  that  hasten  my  re- 
turn to  Paris,  my  pretty  hostess.  Keep  a  corner  for  me  in  your 
heart,  and  ...  we  shall  meet  again.  I  expect  to  be  soon 
back  in  Nointel." 

"Before  leaving  us,  Sir  champion,"  insisted  Alison,  rum- 
maging in  her  pocket,  "take  these  three  franks.  I  owe  them  to 
you  for  having  won  my  case." 

."Your  case  ?    .     .    .     I  have  not  yet  pleaded  it !" 

"You  have  gained  my  case  without  pleading  it." 

"How  is  that?" 

"This  forenoon,  when  you  returned  for  your  horse  to  ride 
to  the  tourney,  Simon  the  Hirsute  came  out  of  his  house  as  you 
passed  by.  'Neighbor,'  said  I  to  him,  'I  have  not  until  now  been 
able  to  find  a  champion.  I  now  have  one/  'And  where  is  that 
valiant  champion?'  answered  Simon  sneering.  'There,'  said  I, 
'do  you  see  him?  It  is  that  tall  young  man  riding  yonder  on 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  71 

the  bay  horse/  Simon  then  ran  after  you,  and  after  a  careful 
inspection  that  took  you  in  from  head  to  foot,  he  came  back 
crestfallen  and  said  to  me:  'Here,  neighbor,  I  give  you  threo 
florins,  and  let's  be  quits.'  'No,  neighbor,  you  shall  return  to 
me  my  twelve  florins,  or  you  will  have  to  settle  with  my  cham- 
pion, if  not  to-day,  to-morrow/  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later, 
Simon  the  Hirsute,  who  had  now  turned  sweet  as  honey,  brought 
me  my  twelve  florins.  Here  are  the  three  promised  to  you,  Sir 
champion." 

"I  have  not  pleaded,  and  have  nothing  coming  to  me  from 
you,  my  pretty  hostess,  except  a  kiss  which  you  will  let  me  have 
when  you  hold  my  stirrup/' 

"Oh,  what  a  large  heart  you  have,  Sir  champion !"  cordially 
answered  Alison.  "One  embraces  his  friends,  and  I  am  certain 
you  now  entertain  some  affection  for  me." 

After  Phoebus  had  eaten  his  fill  and  Jocelyn  had  thrown 
a  thick  traveling  cloak  over  his  armor,  he  returned  to  the  room. 
Approaching  Mazurec  he  said  to  him  with  deep  emotion: 
"Courage  and  patience  .  .  .  embrace  me  ...  I  know 
not  why,  but  I  feel  an  interest  in  you  beside  that  which  your 
misfortunes  awaken  ...  I  shall  ere  long  have  clari- 
fied my  doubts";  and,  then  addressing  Aveline:  "Good-bye, 
poor  child ;  your  hopes  are  shattered ;  but  at  least  the  companion 
of  your  sorrows  has  been  saved  to  you.  Often  will  your  tears 
mingle  with  his  and  they  will  seem  less  bitter" ;  turning  finally 
to  Caillet  and  Adam  the  Devil,  whose  horny  hands  he  pressed  in 
his  own:  "Good-bye,  brothers  .  .  .  remember  your  prom- 
ises; I  shall  not  forget  mine;  let  us  know  how  to  wait  for  the 
great  day  of  reprisal." 

"To  see  that  day  and  avenge  my  daughter,  to  exterminate  the 
nobles  and  their  tonsured  helpers,  is  all  I  desire,"  answered 
Caillet;  "after  that  I  shall  be  ready  to  die." 

After  planting  a  cordial  kiss  on  the  red  lips  of  Alison,  who 


73  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

was  holding  his  stirrup,  and  two  on  her  rosy  cheeks,  Jocelyn  the 
Champion  bounded  on  his  horse,  and  despite  the  rain  and  the 
thick  darkness,  hastily  resumed  the  road  to  Paris. 
"Happy  trip  and  speedy  return !"  cried  out  Alison  after  him. 


PART    H. 
THE    REGENCY    OF    NORMANDY 


CHAPTER    I. 
THE   STATES   GENERAL. 

The  Prankish  conquerors  of  Gaul  founded  about  a  thousand 
years  before  the  date  of  this  narrative  the  first  dynasty  that 
reigned  in  the  land.  Clovis,  the  first  of  the  kings,  established 
and  his  successor  followed  the  custom  of  almost  yearly  convoking 
their  leudes,  or  chiefs  of  bands,  to  gatherings  that  they  named 
Fields  of  May.  At  these  assemblies,  from  which  the  Celtic  or 
conquered  people  were  wholly  excluded  and  to  which  only  the 
warrior  ruler  class  was  admitted,  the  Prankish  chiefs  or  feudal 
lords  deliberated  with  their  supreme  sovereign,  the  king,  in 
their  own  or  Germanic  tongue  upon  new  martial  enterprises; 
or  upon  new  imposts  to  be  laid  upon  the  subjected  race.  It  was 
at  these  Fields  of  May  that  later,  during  the  usurpatory  do- 
minion of  the  stewards  of  the  palace,  the  do-nothing  kings,  those 
last  scions  of  Clovis,  unnerved  and  degenerate  beings,  appeared 
once  a  year  with  artificial  beards  as  the  grotesque  and  hollow 
effigies  of  royalty.  These  assemblies  were  continued  under  the 
reign  of  Charles  the  Great  and  the  Carlovingian  kings — the 
dynasty  that  in  752  succeeded  that  of  Clovis.  The  bishops,  ac- 
complices of  the  conquerors,  joined  in  these  assemblies,  where,  ac- 
cordingly, only  the  nobility,  that  is,  the  conquerors,  and  the 
clergy  had  seats.  Under  Hugh  Capet  and  his  descendants,  the 
dynasty  of  the  Capets,  which  succeeded  that  of  the  Carlovingians 
in  987,  continued  the  practice  of  the  Fields  of  May,  but  under 
a  different  name.  At  irregular  intervals  they  held  in  their  do- 
mains Courts  or  Parliaments — assemblies  composed  of  seigneurs 
and  prelates,  but  from  which  the  newly  shaping  class  of  bour- 
geois or  townsmen  was  excluded,  along  with  the  artisans  and 
serfs,  essentially  as  was  the  case  under  the  previous  dynasties. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  75 

These  assemblies  represented  exclusively  the  interests  of  the 
ruling  class  and  its  accomplices. 

Towards  the  close  of  1290,  the  legists  or  lawyers,  a  new  class 
of  plebeian  origin,  began  to  enter  the  parliaments.  The  royal 
power,  that  had  reared  its  head  upon  the  ruins  of  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  feudal  lords,  grew  ever  more  oppressive  and  absolute, 
and  the  functions  of  the  parliaments  were  by  degrees  restricted 
to  servilely  registering  and  promulgating  the  royal  ordinances, 
instead  of  remaining  what  they  originally  were,  free  gatherings 
where  kings,  seigneurs  and  prelates  deliberated  as  peers  upon 
the  affairs  of  the  State — that  is  to  say,  their  own  private  inter- 
ests, to  the  exclusion  of  those  of  the  people.  In  course  of  time, 
despite  these  registrations,  neither  law  nor  ordinance  was  carried 
out,  and  the  government  became  wholly  autocratic.  Then  came 
a  turn.  The  spirit  of  liberty  breathed  over  Gaul,  and  a  species 
of  general  insurrection  broke  out  against  the  crown.  The  towns- 
men, entrenched  in  their  towns,  the  seigneurs  in  their  castles, 
the  bishops  in  their  dioceses,  reused  to  pay  the  imposts  decreed 
at  the  royal  pleasure.  Thus  Philip  the  Fair,  in  the  early  part 
of  the  eleventh  century,  was  unable  to  enforce  the  ordinance 
that  levied  a  fifth  of  all  incomes.  Although  the  decree  was 
registered  by  parliament,  the  officers  of  the  King  were  met  with 
swords,  sticks  and  showers  of  stones  in  Paris,  Orleans  and  other 
places,  and  remained  unable  to  fetch  the  money  to  the  royal 
treasury.  At  that  juncture  Enguerrand  de  Marigny,  an  able 
minister,  who  was  later  hanged,  said  to  Philip  the  Fair:  "Fair 
iSire,  you  are  not  the  strongest;  therefore,  instead  of  ordering, 
request,  pray,  entreat,  if  necessary.  To  that  end  convoke  a  na- 
tional assembly,  States  General,  composed  of  prelates,  seigneurs 
and  bourgeois  or  townsmen,  jointly  deputed.  In  our  days,  fair 
Sire,  we  must  reckon  with  the  townsmen,  that  bourgeois  class 
that  has  succeeded  in  emancipating  itself.  To  that  national 
assembly  submit  gently,  mildly  and  frankly  the  needs  that  press 
you.  If  you  do,  there  is  a  good  chance  of  your  wishes  being  met." 

The  advice  was  wise.    Philip  the  Fair  followed  it.    Thus  it 


y6  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

came  about  that  for  the  first  time  since  nine  centuries,  and 
thanks  to  the  communal  insurrections,  the  bourgeois — those 
plebeians  who  represented  the  subjugated  class — took  their  seats 
in  the  national  assembly  beside  the  seigneurs,  who  represented 
the  oppressors,  and  the  bishops,  their  accomplices.  Before  these 
States  General,  that  thus  came  into  existence,  the  king  now 
appeared  in  humble  posture,  affecting  poverty  and  good  will, 
and  obtained  the  levies  of  men  and  subsidies  that  he  needed. 
After  Philip  the  Fair,  his  descendants,  greedy,  prodigal  and 
needy,  convoked  a  national  assembly  whenever  they  required  a 
new  levy  of  taxes  or  of  men.  The  bourgeois  deputies  ever  ap- 
peared at  these  assemblies  in  a  defiant  mood.  They  never  were 
convoked  except  to  exact  gold  and  the  blood  of  their  race  from 
them.  To  exact  is  the  correct  term.  Vain  it  was  for  the  bour- 
geois deputies  to  refuse,  as  they  did,  the  levies  of  men  and 
moneys  that  seemed  to  them  unjust.  Their  refusal  was  annulled, 
and  the  method  of  annulment  was  tihis :  The  States  General  con- 
sisted of  three  estates — the  nobility,  the  clergy  and  the  bour- 
geoisie— each  being  represented  by  an  equal  number  of  deputies. 
Accordingly,  the  bourgeoisie  was  out-voted  by  the  combined 
estates  of  the  nobility  and  the  clergy,  both  of  which  were  ever 
found  anxious  to  meet  the  royal  wishes  on  the  head  of  taxation. 

The  reason  was  plain.  The  prelates  and  seigneurs,  being 
exempt  of  taxation  in  virtue  of  the  privileges  of  the  nobility  of 
the  one  and  the  alleged  sanctity  of  the  other,  and  sharing,  thanks 
to  the  prodigalities  of  the  kings,  in  the  taxes  levied  on  the 
bourgeoisie,  granted  with  gladsome  hearts  all  the  levies  for  money 
that  the  crown  ever  requested. 

Thus  stood  things  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  John  II. 
Though  the  position  of  the  people  continued  to  be  grievous,  yet 
marked  progress  had  been  made. 


CHAPTEE    II. 
ETIENNE  MARCEL. 

The  hopeless  minority  in  which  the  bourgeoisie  found  itself 
in  the  States  General  rendered  its  participation  in  government 
a  fiction.  It  remained  for  a  great  man  and  the  proper  juncture 
in  order  to  turn  the  fiction  into  a  reality.  The  juncture  set  in 
during  the  year  1355,  when  King  John  II  found  his  treasury 
empty  through  his  ruinous  prodigalities,  and  Gaul  in  flames 
through  the  pretensions  of  the  King  of  England  to  the  ownership 
of  the  country  and  his  efforts  to  reconquer  it,  while  in  the  south 
Charles  the  Wicked,  King  of  Navarre,  whom  John  II.  had  given 
his  daughter  in  marriage,  was  arms  in  hand,  capturing  several 
provinces  to  which  he  laid  claim  as  part  of  his  wife's  dower.  The 
man  of  the  occasion  arose  in  Etienne  Marcel. 

With  the  country  torn  up  by  war  and  his  treasury  bankrupt, 
John  II  convoked  the  States  General.  He  needed  stout  levies 
of  men  and  stouter  levies  of  money.  The  Archbishop  of  Rouen, 
then  the  royal  chancellor,  haughtily  presented  the  King's  de- 
knands.  But  the  imperious  chancellor  had  counted  without 
Etienne  Marcel,  one  of  the  greatest  men  who  ever  added  luster 
to  the  name  of  Gaul.  The  great  commoner,  deputed  to  the 
States  General  by  the  city  of  Paris  and  indignant  at  seeing  the 
nobility  and  clergy  disregard  the  just  protests  of  the  deputies 
of  the  bourgeoisie,  thundered  against  the  odious  practice,  and, 
sustained  by  the  menacing  attitude  of  the  Parisians,  he  uttered 
the  memorable  declaration  that  the  alliance  of  the  nolility  and 
the  clergy  was  no  longer  to  be  of  controlling  force  upon  the  depu- 
ties of  the  bourgeoisie,  and  that  if,  contrary  to  the  vote  of  the 
bourgeoisie,  the  seigneurs  and  prelates  granted  levies  of  men  and 
moneys  to  the  King  without  any  guarantee  as  to  the  proper  em- 


78  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

ployment  of  such  forces  and  funds  for  the  public  welfare,  the 
towns  would  have  to  refuse  obedience  to  such  decrees  and  furnish 
neither  men  nor  moneys  to  the  crown. 

These  energetic  and  wise  words,  never  heard  before,  imposed 
upon  the  States  General.  In  the  name  of  the  deputies  of  the 
bourgeoisie,  Marcel  submits  to  the  crown  the  conditions  under 
which  the  third  estate  would  consent  to  grant  the  men  and  sub- 
sidies asked  for;  and  the  crown  accepts,  knowing  the  people 
of  Paris  stood  ready  to  sustain  their  spokesman.  Unfortunately, 
and  the  experience  was  to  be  more  than  once  made  by  Marcel, 
he  soon  realized  the  hollowness  of  royal  promises.  The  moneys 
granted  by  the  national  assembly  are  insanely  dissipated  by  the 
King  and  his  courtiers.  The  levies  of  men,  instead  of  being 
employed  against  the  English,  whose  invasion  spread  over  wider 
areas  of  the  national  territory,  are  turned  to  the  private  wars 
of  the  King  against  some  of  the  seigneurs,  and  intended  either 
to  protect  or  enlarge  his  own  domains.  The  audacity  of  the  Eng- 
lish redoubles;  they  break  the  truce  and  threaten  the  very  heart 
of  the  land ;  and  King  John  then  hastily  summons  his  faithful 
and  wellrbeloved  nobility  to  join  him  in  the  defence  of  the  na- 
tion. 

The  reception  given  to  the  royal  herald  by  the  valiant  jousters, 
warm  from  the  passage  of  arms  at  the  tourney  of  Nointel,  has 
been  narrated.  Nevertheless,  with  good  or  ill  will,  the  majority 
of  the  gallants,  all  of  whom  were  made  to  fear  for  their  own 
estates  by  the  foreign  invasion,  dragged  their  vassals  after  them, 
and  joined  John  II  near  Poitiers.  At  the  first  charge  of  the 
English  archers  the  brilliant  gathering  of  knights  turn  their 
horses'  heads,  ply  their  spurs,  cowardly  take  to  flight,  and  leave 
the  poor  people  that  they  had  compelled  to  follow  them  at  the 
mercy  of  the  invader  who  falls  upon  them  and  ruthlessly  puts 
them  to  the  sword.  King  John  himself  remains  a  prisoner  on 
the  field,  while  his  son  Charles,  Duke  of  Normandy,  a  stripling 
barely  twenty  years  of  age,  escapes  with  his  brothers  the  dis- 
graceful defeat  of  his  father  only  by  riding  full  tilt  to  Paris, 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  jg 

where,  in  his  capacity  of  Regent,  he  convokes  the  States  Gen- 
eral for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  fresh  sums  to  ransom  the 
seigneurs  who  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Without  Etienne  Marcel,  the  draper,  Gaul  would  have  been 
lost;  but  the  ascendancy  of  his  genius  and  patriotism  dominated 
the  assembly.  In  answer  to  the  chancellor,  who  conveyed  the 
demands  of  the  Regent,  Marcel  declared  that  before  attending 
to  the  ransom  of  the  King  and  knights,  the  nation's  safety  de- 
manded attention.  The  nation's  safety  demanded  urgent  and 
radical  reforms.  He  recited  them.  And,  losing  sight  of  noth- 
ing, but  developing  superhuman  activity,  he  caused  Paris  to  be 
protected  with  new  fortifications  in  order  to  render  the  town 
safe  from  the  English  who  had  advanced  as  far  as  St.  Cloud. 
He  armed  the  people;  organized  the  street  police;  made  pro- 
visions for  food  by  large  importations  of  grains;  calmed  and 
reassured  the  alarmed  spirits ;  by  his  example  imparted  a  similar 
temper  to  the  other  towns ;  and,  faithful  in  the  midst  of  all  other 
cares  to  the  plan  of  reform  that  he  had  pursued  and  ripened 
during  the  long  years  of  his  obscure  and  industrious  life,  he 
caused  the  appointment  of  a  committee  of  twenty-four  bourgeois 
deputies  charged  with  the  drafting  of  the  reforms  that  were 
to  be  demanded  from  the  Regent.  The  deputies  of  the  nobility 
and  the  clergy  withdrew  disdainfully  from  the  national  assembly, 
shocked  at  the  audacity  of  the  bourgeois  legislators.  These, 
however,  masters  of  the  situation  and  laboring  under  the  high 
inspiration  of  Etienne  Marcel,  drew  up  a  plan  of  reforms  that 
in  itself  meant  an  immense  revolution.  It  was  the  republican 
government  of  the  ancient  communes  of  Gaul,  now  extended  be- 
yond the  confines  of  the  town  and  made  to  cover  the  entire 
nation ;  it  was  the  substitution  of  the  power  of  deputies  elected 
by  the  whole  country  for  the  absolute  power  of  the  crown. 
The  King  becomes  merely  the  chief  agent  of  the  States  General, 
and  he  has  no  power  without  their  sovereign  consent  to  dispose 
of  a  single  man,  or  a  single  florin.  These  reforms,  the  fruit 
of  many  vigils  on  the  part  of  Etienne  Marcel,  were  accepted  and 


8o  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

solemnly  sworn  to  by  Charles,  Duke  of  Normandy,  in  the  capacity 
of  Regent  for  his  father,  then  a  prisoner  in  the  English  camp, 
and  they  were  promulgated  in  the  principal  towns  of  Gaul  with 
the  sound  of  trumpets,  under  the  title  of  "Royal  Ordinance  of 
the  17th  day  of  January,  1357."  The  ordinance  was  as  fol- 
lows: 

The  States  General  shall  henceforth  meet  whenever  they  may  think 
fit  and  without  requiring  the  consent  of  the  King,  to  deliberate  upon 
the  government  of  the  kingdom,  and  the  vote  of  the  nobility  and  clergy 
shall  have  no  binding  power  over  the  deputies  of  the  communes. 

The  members  of  the  States  General  shall  be  under  the  protection  of 
the  king,  the  Duke  of  Normandy  and  their  successors.  And,  further 
more,  members  of  the  States  General  shall  be  free  to  travel  throughout 
the  kingdom  with  an  armed  escort  that  shall  be  charged  with  causing 
them  to  be  respected. 

The  moneys  proceeding  from  the  subsidies  granted  by  the  States 
General  shall  be  levied  and  distributed,  not  by  royal  officers,  but  by  depu- 
ties elected  by  the  States  General;  and  they  shall  swear  to  resist  all 
orders  of  the  King  and  his  ministers,  in  case  the  King  or  his  ministers 
wish  to  turn  the  moneys  to  other  expenses  than  those  provided  for  by 
the  States  General. 

The  King  shall  grant  no  pardon  for  murder,  rape,  abduction  or  in- 
fringement of  truce. 

The  offices  of  justice  shall  not  be  sold  or  farmed  out. 

The  costs  of  processes,  inquests  and  administration  in  the  chambers 
of  parliament  and  of  accounts  shall  be  lowered,  and  the  officials  of  those 
departments  who  may  refuse,  shall  be  expelled  as  extortionists  of  the 
public  fund. 

All  seizures  of  food,  clothing  or  money  in  the  name  and  for  the  service 
of  the  King  or  of  his  family  shall  be  forbidden ;  and  power  is  given 
to  the  inhabitants  to  gather  at  the  call  of  their  town  bell  and  to  pursue 
the  seizers. 

To  the  end  of  avoiding  all  monopoly  and  extortion,  no  officer  of  the 
King  shall  be  allowed  to  carry  on  any  trade  in  merchandise  or  money. 

The  expenses  of  the  houshold  of  the  King,  the  Dauphin  and  of 'the 
princes  shall  be  moderated  and  reduced  to  reasonable  bounds  by  the 
States  General ;  and  the  stewards  of  the  royal  households  shall  be  obliged 
to  pay  for  what  they  buy. 

Finally,  the  King,  the  Dauphin,  the  princes,  the  nobility,  the  prelates 
of  whatever  rank,  shall  bear  the  burden  of  taxation  the  same  as  all  other 
citizens,  as  justice  requires. 

Compared  with  the  Fields  of  May  of  olden  days,  where  the 
conquering  Franks  and  their  bishops  disposed  of  the  people 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  3i 

of  Gaul  like  cattle,  the  national  assemblies,  held  under  the  or- 
dinance that  Etienne  Marcel  had  wrung  from  the  crown — as- 
semblies dominated  by  the  industrious  class  which  by  its  labor, 
commerce,  trades  and  arts  enriched  the  country  while  the  royalty, 
nobility  and  clergy  devoured  it — the  progress  was  gigantic. 

No  less  distinguished  were  the  services  of  Etienne  Marcel 
at  this  juncture  against  the  foreign  invader,  who  was  advancing 
with  rapid  marches  upon  the  capital  of  the  land.  Paris,  origin- 
ally circumscribed  to  the  island  that  is  washed  by  the  two  arms 
of  the  Seine,  extended  itself  from  century  to  century  beyond  its 
original  cradle  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  until  under  the  reign 
of  John  II  it  had  grown  to  a  town  of  large  proportions.  The 
old  part  of  the  city,  that  which  is  bounded  by  the  two  arms 
of  the  river,  continued  at  this  time  to  be  called  the  Cite  and 
served  as  the  headquarters  of  the  clergy,  whose  houses  seemed 
to  cuddle  under  the  shadow  of  the  high  towers  of  the  tall  church 
of  Notre  Dame.  The  Bishop  of  Paris  had  almost  the  entire  Cite 
for  his  jurisdiction.  On  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine  and  at 
the  place  where  rose  the  thick  tower  of  the  gate  of  the  Louvre, 
began  the  fortified  premises  of  what  was  generally  called  the 
town.  It  was  peopled  with  merchants,  artisans  and  bourgeois, 
and  it  contained  the  square  at  one  end  of  which  stood  the  pillory, 
where  malefactors  were  exposed  or  executed  before  taking  their 
corpses  to  the  gibbets  of  Montfaucon.  The  girdle  of  fortresses 
that  surround  Paris  to  the  north  extends  from  the  thick  tower 
of  the  Louvre  to  the  gate  of  S.  Honore.  From  there,  the  wall 
winding  towards  the  Coquiller  gate,  reaches  the  gate  of  Mont 
Martre,  makes  a  curve  near  St.  Denis  street,  continues  in  the 
direction  of  the  gate  of  St.  Antoine,  and  arrives  at  the  Bar- 
bette gate,  which  is  flanked  by  the  large  tower  of  Billy,  built 
on  the  borders  of  the  Seine  opposite  Notre  Dame  and  the  isle  of 
Cows.  The  girdle  of  the  ramparts,  interrupted  at  this  spot  by 
the  river,  is  resumed  on  the  left  bank.  It  skirts  the  quarter 
of  the  University,  which  is  inhabited  by  the  students  and  which 
has  for  its  issues  the  gates  of  St,  Vincent,  St.  Marcel,  St.  Gene- 


82  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

vieve,  St.  James  and  St.  Germain.  Thence  it  flanks  the  palace 
of-  Nesle  and  runs  out  into  the  tower  of  Philip-Hamelin,  built  on 
the  left  bank  opposite  the  tower  of  the  Louvre,  which  rises  on. 
the  right  bank.  This  vast  enclosure  which  insured  the  defense 
of  Paris  was  completed  by  arduous  labors  of  fortification  due  to 
the  genius  and  the  prodigious  activity  of  Etienne  Marcel.  He 
caused  the  ramparts  to  be  equipped  with  numerous  engines  of 
war  of  the  new  kind  that  then  began  to  come  in  vogue  named 
cannons — tubes  made  of  bars  of  iron  held  fast  by  rings  of  the 
same  metal.  By  means  of  a  powder  recently  invented  by  a  Ger- 
man monk,  these  cannons  expelled  stone  and  iron  balls  with  what 
was  then  considered  marvelous  velocity,  force  and  noise,  and  to  a 
then  equally  marvelous  distance.  Without  those  immense  works, 
all  of  which  were  executed  within  three  months,  the  capital 
of  Gaul  would  have  inevitably  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Eng- 
lish. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  MAN  OF  THE  FUERED  CAP. 

Many  weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  night  when  Jocelyn  the 
Champion  rode  back  to  Paris  from  the  little  village  of  Nointel. 
A  man  wearing  a  woolen  cap,  clad  in  an  old  blouse  of  grey 
material,  carrying  a  knapsack  on  his  back  and  a  heavy  stick 
in  his  hand  entered  Paris  by  the  gate  of  St.  Denis.       It  was 
William  Caillet,  the  father  of  Aveline-who-never-lied.     The  old 
peasant  looked  even  somberer  than  when  last  seen  at  Nbintel. 
His  hollow  and  fiery  eyes,  his  sunken  cheeks,  his  bitter  smile — 
all  betokened  a  profound  and  concentrated  sorrow.     This,  how- 
ever, yielded  presently  to  astonishment  at  the  tumultuous  aspect 
of  the  streets  of  Paris,  where  he  now  found  himself  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.     The  multitude  of  busy  people  wearing  different 
costumes,  the  horses,  carriages,  litters  that  crossed  in  all  direc- 
tions, gave  the  rustic  a  feeling  akin  to  vertigo,  while  his  ears 
rung  with  the  deafening  cries  incessantly  uttered  by  the  mer- 
chants and  their  apprentices,  who,  standing  at  the  doors  of 
their  shops  solicited  customers.       "Hot  stoves!       Hot  baths!" 
cried  the  keepers  of  bathing  houses ;  "Fresh  and  warm  cakes !" 
cried  the  pastry  venders ;  "Fresh  wine,  just  arrived  from  Argen- 
teuil  and  Suresne!"  cried  a  tavern-keeper  armed  with  a  large 
pewter  tumbler,  and  with  looks  and  gestures  inviting  the  topers 
to  drink;  "Whose  coat  needs  mending?"  asked  the  tailor;  "The 
oven  is  warm,  who  wants  to  have  his  bread  baked  ?"  vociferated  a 
baker ;  further  off  a  royal  edict  was  being  proclaimed,  announced 
by  drum  and  trumpet;  in  among  the  crowd   several  monks, 
collectors  for  a  brotherhood,  held  out  their  purses  and  cried: 
"Give  for  the  ransom  of  the  souls  in  purgatory !"  while  beggurs, 
exhibiting  their  real  or  assumed  deformities  excHmed:    "Give 


84  .  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

to  the  poor,  for  the  love  of  God !"  Before  venturing  further  into 
Paris,  William  Caillet  sat  down  on  a  stone  step  placed  near  a 
door  meaning  both  to  rest  himself  and  to  accustom  his  eyes 
and  ears  to  a  noise  that  was  so  utterly  new  to  him. 

Presently  a  distant  rumbling,  proceeding  from  Mauconseil 
street,  almost  drowned  the  cross-fire  of  cries.  At  intervals  the 
roll  of  drums  and  mournful  clarion  notes  mingled  with  the  ap- 
proaching and  rumbling  din,  and  soon  Caillet  heard  repeated 
from  mouth  to  mouth  in  accents  at  once  sorrowful  and  angry : 
"That's  the  funeral  of  the  poor  Perrin  Mace."  All  the  passers- 
by  started,  and  a  great  number  of  merchants  and  apprentices  left 
their  shops  in  charge  of  the  women  behind  the  counters,  and  ran 
towards  Mauconseil  and  Oysters-are-fried-here  streets,  where  the 
funeral  procession  was  to  pass  after  traversing  St.  Denis  street. 

Struck  by  the  eagerness  of  the  Parisians  to  witness  the  funeral, 
which  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  public  mourning,  Caillet  followed 
the  crowd,  whose  confluence  from  several  other  streets  soon  be- 
came considerable.  Accident  threw  him  near  a  student  of  the 
University  of  Paris.  The  young  man,  about  twenty  years  of 
age,  was  named  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher,  a  nickname  that  was 
borne  out  by  the  jovial  and  convivial  mien  of  the  strapping 
youngster.  He  had  on  his  head  a  crazy  felt  hat  that  age  had 
rendered  yellow,  and  he  wore  a  black  coat  no  less  patched  up 
than  his  hose.  He  looked  as  threadbare  as  ever  did  a  Paris 
student.  Held  back  by  his  rustic  timidity,  Caillet  did  not  ven- 
ture to  open  a  conversation  with  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher, 
notwithstanding  several  remarks  dropped  by  the  crowd  around 
him  and  by  the  student  himself  increased  the  rustic's  curiosity 
in  the  young  man. 

"Poor  Perrin  Mace!"  said  a  Parisian,  "To  have  his  hand 
cut  off  and  then  be  hanged  without  trial !  And  all  because 
it  so  pleased  the  Regent  and  his  courtiers !" 

"That's  the  way  the  court  respects  the  famous  ordinance  of  our 
Marcel!" 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  85 

"Oh,  this  nobility!  .  .  .  It  is  the  pest  and  ruination  of 
the  country !  .  .  .It  and  its  clergy  !" 

"The  nobles !"  cried  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher ;  "they  are 
merely  caprisoned  and  plumed  parade  horses;  good  to  prance 
and  not  to  carry  or  draw.  The  moment  they  are  called  to  do 
work,  they  rear  and  kick !" 

"And  yet,  master  student,"  ventured  a  large  sized  man  with 
a  furred  cap,  "the  noble  knighthood  deserves  our  respect." 

"The  knighthood !"  cried  Rufin,  laughing  contemptuously, 
"the  knighthood  is  good  only  to  figure  in  tourneys,  attracted 
by  the  lure  of  profit.  The  horse  and  arms  of  the  vanquished  be- 
long to  the  vanquisher.  By  Jupiter !  Those  doughty  chaps  seek 
to  throw  down  their  adversaries  just  as  we  students  seek  to  knock 
down  the  nine-pins  at  a  bowling  game  on  the  college  grounds. 
But  so  soon  as  their  skins  are  in  danger  in  battle,  where  there 
is  no  profit  to  be  fetched  other  than  blows,  that  same  nobility 
shamefully  takes  to  flight,  as  happened  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers, 
where  it  gave  the  signal  for  run-who-run-can  to  an  army  of  forty 
thousand  men  pitted  against  only  eight  thousand  English 
archers !  By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope !  Your  nobles  are  not  men, 
they  are  hares!" 

"Come,  now,  master  student,"  laughingly  put  in  another 
townsman ;  "let  us  not  be  too  hard  upon  the  nobility ;  did  it  not 
rid  us  of  King  John  by  leaving  him  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the 
English?" 

"Yes !"  exclaimed  another,  "but  we  shall  have  to  pay  the  royal 
ransom,  and  in  the  meantime  must  submit  to  the  government 
of  the  Regent,  a  stripling  of  twenty  years,  who  orders  people  to 
be  hanged  when  they  demand  the  moneys  owing  to  them  by  the 
royal  treasury,  and  object  when  we  strike  them,  as  did  Perrin 
Mace." 

"With  the  aid  of  heaven,  our  friend  Marcel  will  soon  put  B 
stop  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Marcel  is  the  providence  of  Paris." 

''Friends,"  resumed  the  man  of  the  furred  cap,  smiling  dis- 


86  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

(lain fully,  "you  seem  to  have  nothing  but  the  name  of  Marcel 
in  your  mouths.  Although  Master  Marcel  is  a  provost  and  presi- 
dent of  the  town  council,  yet  he  is  not  everything  on  earth. 
The  other  councilmen  are  his  superiors  in  trade.  Take,  for  in- 
stance, John  Maillart,  there  you  have  a  worthy  townsman — 

"Who  is  it  dare  compare  others  with  the  great  Marcel !"  cried 
Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher.  "By  Jupiter,  whoever  utters  such 
foolishness  quacks  like  a  goose !" 

"Hm !  Hm  I"  grumbled  the  man  of  the  furred  cap ;  "I  said 
so!" 

"Then  it  is  you  who  quack  like  a  goose!"  promptly  replied 
the  Tankard-smasher.  "What !  You  dare  maintain  that  Marcel 
is  not  the  foremost  townsman !  He,  the  friend  of  the  people  !" 

"Aye,  aye !"  came  from  the  crowd.  "Marcel  is  our  saviour. 
Without  him  Paris  would  by  this  time  have  been  taken  and 
sacked  by  the  English !" 

"Marcel,"  resumed  the  Tankard-smasher  with  increasing  en- 
thusiasm, "he  who  restored  economy  in  our  finances,  order  and 
security  in  the  city !  By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope !  I  know  some- 
thing about  that !  Only  a  fortnight  ago,  towards  midnight,  I 
with  my  chum  Nicolas  the  Thin-skinned  were  beating  at  the  door 
of  a  public  house  on  Trace-Pute  street.  The  woman  of  the  house 
refused  us  admission,  pretending  that  the  girls  we  were  looking- 
for  were  not  in.  Thereat  I  and  my  friend  came  near  breaking 
in  the  door.  At  that  a  platoon  of  cross-bowmen,  organized  by 
Marcel  to  maintain  order  in  the  streets,  happens  to  go  by,  and 
they  arrest  and  lodge  both  of  us  at  the  Chatelet,  despite  our 
privileges  as  students  of  the  Paris  University!  .  .  .  Now 
dare  say  that  Marcel  does  not  keep  order  in  town !" 

"That  may  all  be,"  answered  the  man  of  the  furred  cap ;  "but 
any  other  councilman  would  have  done  as  much;  and  Master 
John  Maillart—" 

"John  Maillart!"  exclaimed  Rufin.  "By  the  bowels  of  the 
Pope !  Had  he  or  any  other,  the  King  himself,  dared  to  en- 
croach upon  the  franchises  of  the  University,  the  students,  rising 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  87 

enmasse,  would  have  poured,  arms  in  hands,  out  of  their  quarter 
of  St.  Germain  and  there  would  have  been  a  battle  in  Paris. 
But  what  is  allowed  to  Marcel,  the  idol  of  Paris,  is  not  allowed 
to  any  other." 

"The  student  is  right!"  went  up  from  the  crowd.  "Marcel 
is  our  idol  because  he  is  just,  because  he  protects  the  interests 
of  the  bourgeois  against  the  court  people,  of  the  weak  against 
the  strong.  Long  live  Etienne  Marcel !" 

"Without  the  activity  of  Marcel,  his  courage  and  his  fore- 
sight, Paris  would  have  been  burned  down  and  deluged  in  blood 
by  the  English." 

"Did  not  Marcel  also  keep  our  town  from  starvation,  when 
he  went  himself  at  the  head  of  the  militia  as  far  as  Corbeil 
to  protect  a  cargo  of  grain  that  the  Navarrais  meant  to  pillage  ?" 

"I  don't  deny  that,"  calmly  observed  the  man  of  the  furred 
cap  with  envious  insistence.  "All  I  maintain  is  that,  put  in  the 
place  of  Marcel,  Maillart  would  have  done  as  well." 

"Surely,  provided  the  councilman  had  the  genius  of  Marcel. 
If  he  had,  he  surely  would  have  done  as  well  as  Marcel!"  re- 
joined the  Tankard-smasher.  "If  my  sweetheart  wore  a  beard, 
she  would  be  the  lover  and  somebody  else  the  sweetheart !" 

This  sally  of  the  student  was  received  with  a  universal  laughter 
of  approval.  The  immense  majority  of  the  Parisians  entertained 
for  Marcel  as  much  attachment  as  admiration. 

Wrapt  in  his  somber  silence,  William  Caillet  had  listened  atten- 
tively to  the  altercation,  and  he  saw  confirmed  that  which  Jocelyn 
the  Champion  had  stated  to  him  a  short  time  ago  at  Nointel  con- 
cerning the  influence  of  Marcel  upon  the  Parisian  people.  By 
that  time,  the  roll  of  drums,  the  notes  of  the  clarions  and  the 
din  of  a  large  multitude  had  drawn  nearer.  The  procession 
turned  into  Mauconseil  in  order  to  cross  St.  Denis  street.  A 
company  of  the  town's  cross-bowmen,  commanded  by  a  captain, 
marched  at  the  head  and  opened  the  way,  preceded  by  the  drum- 
mers and  clarion  blowers,  who  alternately  struck  up  funeral  bars. 
Behind  the  cross-bowmen  came  the  town's  heralds,  dressed  in  the 


88  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

town  colors,  half  reel  and  half  blue.     From  time  to  time  the 
heralds  recited  solemnly  the  following  mournful  psalmody : 

"Pray  for  the  soul  of  Perrin  Mace",  a  bourgeois  of  Paris,  unjustly 
executed ! 

"John  Baillet,  the  treasurer  of  the  Regent,  had  borrowed  in  the 
name  of  the  King  a  sum  of  money  from  Perrin  Mace". 

"Mace"  demanded  his  money  in  virtue  of  the  new  edict  that  orders  the 
royal  officers  to  pay  for  what  they  buy  and  return  what  they  borrow  for 
the  King,  under  penalty  of  being  brought  to  law  by  their  creditors. 

"John  Baillet  refused  to  pay,  and  furthermore  insulted,  threatened 
and  struck  Perrin  Mace. 

"In  the  exercise  of  his  right  of  legitimate  defence,  granted  him  by 
the  new  edict,  Perrin  Mace"  returned  blow  for  blow,  killed  John  Baillet 
and  betook  himself  to  the  church  of  St.  M6ry,  a  place  of  asylum,  from 
where  he  demanded  an  inquest  and  trial. 

"The  Duke  of  Normandy,  now  Regent,  immediately  sent  one  of  his 
courtiers,  the  marshal  of  Normandy,  to  the  church  of  St.  Me"ry,  accom- 
panied with  an  escort  of  soldiers  and  the  executioner. 

"The  marshal  of  Normandy  dragged  Perrin  Mace"  from  the  church, 
and  without  trial  Mack's  right  hand  was  cut  off  and  he  was  immediately 
hanged. 

"Pray  for  the  soul  of  Perrin  Mace",  a  bourgeois  of  Paris,  unjustly 
executed." 

Regularly  after  these  sentences,  that  were  alternately  recited 
by  the  heralds  in  a  solemn  voice,  the  muffled  roll  of  drums  and 
plaintive  clarion  notes  resounded,  but  they  hardly  served  to  hush 
the  imprecations  from  the  crowd,  indignant  at  the  Regent  and 
his  court.  Behind  the  heralds  followed  priests  with  their  cruci- 
fixes and  banners,  and  then,  draped  in  a  long  black  cloth  embroid- 
ered in  silver,  came  the  coffin  of  the  executed  bourgeois,  carried 
by  twelve  notables,  clad  in  their  long  robes  and  wearing  the  two- 
colored  hats  of  red  and  blue,  such  as  were  worn  by  almost  all  the 
partisans  of  the  popular  cause.  The  collars  of  their  gowns  were 
held  by  silver  brooches,  likewise  enameled  in  red  and  blue,  and 
bearing  the  inscription  "To  a  happy  issue,"  a  device  or  rallying 
cry  given  by  Marcel.  Behind  the  coffin  marched  the  councilmen 
of  Paris  with  Etienne  Marcel  at  their  head.  The  obscure  bour- 
geois, who  had  stepped  out  of  his  draper's  shop  to  become  one 
of  the  most  illustrious  citizens  of  Gaul,  was  then  in  the  full  ma- 


THE  IRON  TREJ'ET.  89 

turity  of  his  age.  Of  middle  height  and  robust,  Etienne  Marcel 
somewhat  stooped  from  his  fatigues,  seeing  that  his  prodigious 
activity  of  a  man  of  both  thought  and  action  left  him  no  repose. 
His  open,  manly  and  characterful  face  bore  at  the  chin  a  thick 
tuft  of  brown  beard,  leaving  his  cheeks  and  lips  clean  shaven. 
The  feverish  agitation  of  the  man  and  the  incessant  cares  of 
public  affairs  had  furrowed  his  forehead  and  left  their  marks 
on  his  features  without,  however,  in  any  way  affecting  the  august 
serenity  that  an  irreproachable  conscience  imparts  to  the  physi- 
ognomy of  an  honorable  man.  There  was  nothing  benigner  or 
more  affectionate  than  his  smile  when  under  the  influence  of  the 
tender  sentiments  so  familiar  to  his  heart.  There  was  nothing 
more  imposing  than  his  bearing,  or  more  threatening  than  his 
looks  when,  as  powerful  an  orator  as  he  was  a  great  citizen, 
Etienne  Marcel  thundered  with  the  indignation  of  an  honest  and 
brave  soul  against  the  acts  of  cowardice  and  treason  and  the 
crimes  of  the  feudal  nobility  and  the  despotic  crown.  The  pro- 
vost wore  the  red  and  blue  head-gear  together  with  the  emblaz- 
oned brooch  that  distinguished  the  other  councilmen.  Among 
these,  John  Maillart  often  during  the  procession  gave  his  arm 
to  Marcel,  who,  fatigued  by  the  long  march  through  the  streets 
of  Paris,  cordially  accented  the  support  of  one  of  his  oldest 
friends.  Since  youth  Marcel  had  lived  in  close  intimacy  with 
Maillart,  but  the  latter,  ever  keeping  concealed  the  enviousness 
that  the  glory  of  Marcel  inspired  him  with,  could  not  now  wholly 
repress  a  bitter  smile  at  the  enthusiastic  acclaim  that  salutedi 
Marcel  along  the  route. 

A  woman  clad  in  long  mourning  robes  and  whose  presence 
seemed  out  of  place  at  such  a  ceremony  marched  beside  Maillart. 
It  was  his  wife,  Petronille,  still  young  and  passing  handsome, 
but  of  atrabilious  and  harsh  mien.  Each  time  that  the  heralds 
finished  the  mournful  psalmody  and  before  they  began  it  anew, 
Petronille  Maillart  would  break  out  into  sobs  and  moans,  and 
raising  and  wringing  her  arms  in  despair  cried  out :  "Unhappy 
Pen-in  Mace!  Vengeance  upon  his  ashes!  Vengeance!"  The 


go  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

plaintive  outcries  and  the  contortions  of  Madam  Maillart  seemed, 
however,  to  excite  more  surprise  than  interest  with  the  crowd. 

"By  Jupiter !"  cried  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher,  "what  brings 
that  bellowing  woman  to  this  funeral?  What  makes  her  demean 
herself  like  that,  as  if  she  were  possessed?  She  is  neither  the 
widow  nor  any  relative  of  Perrin  Mace." 

"For  that  reason  her  presence  is  all  the  more  admirable,"  ob- 
served the  man  of  the  furred  cap  addressing  the  crowd.  "Behold 
her,  friends !  Do  you  see  how  her  despair  testifies  the  extent  to 
which  she,  as  well  as  her  husband,  share  in  the  terrible  fate  of 
poor  Perrin  Mace?  .  .  .  You  are  witnesses,  friends,  that 
Dame  Petronille  is  the  only  councilman's  wife  who  assists  at  the 
ceremony !" 

"That's  true!"  said  several  voices.  "Poor,  dear  woman!  She 
must  feel  sadly  distracted." 

"Yes,  indeed.  And  surely  that  is  not  the  case  with  the  wife 
of  Marcel,  our  first  magistrate.  She  and  the  others  remain 
calmly  at  home,  without  at  all  concerning  themselves  about  this 
public  sorrow,"  put  in  the  man  of  the  furred  cap.  "Fail  not  to 
take  notice !" 

"By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope!"  cried  the  Tankard-smasher. 
"Marcel's  wife  acts  like  a  sensible  body.  She  is  right  not  to 
come  out  and  exhibit  herself  and  utter  shrieks  fit  to  deafen 
Beelzebub  just  when  the  drums  are  silent  .  .  .  The  afflic- 
tion of  that  bellowing  woman  looks  to  me  like  a  sheet  of  music, 
marked  on  time.  That  woman  is  playing  a  comedy." 

"You  vainly  try  to  pass  the  matter  off  as  a  joke,  master  stu- 
dent," rejoined  the  man  of  the  furred  cap.  "It  will,  neverthe- 
less, be  noted  that  the  wife  of  Maillart  assisted  at  the  funeral  of 
Perrin  Mace,  and  that  the  wife  of  Marcel  did  not.  Hm !  Hm ! 
My  friends,  that  gives  room  for  many  suspicions;  or,  rather,  it 
confirms  certain  rumors." 

"What  suspicions?"  asked  Rufin;  "What  rumors?  Explain 
yourself." 

But  without  answering  the  student  the  man  of  the  furred  cap 
was  lost  in  the  crowd,  while  continuing  to  whisper  to  those  that 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  91 

he  came  in  contact  with.  During  this  slight  incident,  the  fun- 
eral procession  had  continued  to  file  by.  Notable  townsmen, 
carrying  funeral  torches,  marched  behind  the  councilmen;  they 
were  followed  by  the  trade  guilds,  each  headed  by  its  banner; 
finally  the  rear  was  brought  up  by  a  long  line  of  people  of  all 
conditions  uttering  imprecations  against  the  Eegent  and  his 
court,  and  acclaiming  Marcel  with  ever  increasing  enthusiasm. 
Marcel,  the  crowd  declared,  would  know  how  to  avenge  the 
fresh  and  sanguinary  court  iniquity. 

From  mouth  to  mouth  the  announcement  was  carried  that, 
after  the  ceremony,  Marcel  would  address  the  people  in  the  large 
hall  of  the  Convent  of  the  Cordeliers.  William  Caillet  silently 
assisted  at  this  scene  which  seemed  to  impress  him  deeply.  After 
a  few  moments'  reflections  he  overcame  his  rustic  timidity  and 
drew  Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher  aside  by  the  arm  just  as  the 
latter  was  about  to  walk  away.  The  student  turned  around, 
and  yielding  to  the  joviality  of  his  nature  as  well  as  purposing  to 
haze  the  rustic  after  the  time-honored  practice  of  the  University 
of  Paris,  said  to  him  banteringly:  "I  wager,  dear  rustic, 
that  you  overheard  me  speaking  of  one  of  my  sweethearts !  Hein ! 
I  see  through  you,  my  sylvan  swain !  You  would  like  to  admire 
the  town  beauties.  By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope !  You  shall  have 
your  pick — " 

Hurt  by  the  student's  banter,  William  Caillet  answered  him 
gruffly:  "I  am  a  stranger  in  Paris;  I  come  from  a  great  dis- 
tance— " 

"Oh!  You  would  like  to  enter  the  University,  would  you?" 
Rufin  interrupted  him  with  redoubled  hilarity.  "You  are  some- 
what too  bearded  for  a  bachelor ;  but  that  does  not  matter ;  what 
faculty  would  you  choose  ?  theology  or  medicine  ?  arts,  letters  or 
canonical  law?" 

"Oh,  these  townsmen !"  exclaimed  the  old  peasant  with  pungent 
bitterness.  "They  are  no  better  than  the  people  of  the  castles. 
Go,  Jacques  Bonhomme,  you  have  enemies  everywhere  and  no- 
where a  friend." 


92  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

Saying  this,  Caillet  started  to  walk  away.  But  touched  by  the 
sad  accent  of  the  peasant,  Rufin  held  him  back :  "Friend,  if  I 
have  hurt  your  feelings,  excuse  me.  We  townsmen  are  not  the 
enemies  of  Jacques  Bonhomme  for  the  reason  that  our  enemies 
are  common  to  us  both." 

Ever  suspicious,  Caillet  remained  silent  and  sought  to  dis- 
cover from  the  face  of  the  student  whether  his  words  did  not  con- 
ceal a  trap  or  implied  some  fresh  ridicule.  Rufin  surmised  the 
apprehensions  of  the  serf,  examined  him  once  more  attentively, 
and  now  struck  by  the  lines  of  sorrow  on  his  face,  said  to  him : 
"May  I  die  like  a  dog  if  I  am  not  speaking  sincerely  to  you. 
Friend,  you  seem  to  have  suffered  much;  you  are  a  stranger;  I 
am  at  your  disposal  f  I  do  not  offer  you  my  purse  because  it 
is  empty ;  but  I  offer  you  half  of  the  pallet  on  which  I  sleep  in  a 
student's  room  with  a  chum  from  my  province,  and  a  part  of  our 
meager  pittance." 

Now  convinced  by  the  frankness  of  the  townsman,  the  peasant 
answered :  "I  have  no  time  to  stay  in  Paris ;  I  only  wish  to  speak 
with  Jocelyn  the  Champion  and  Marcel;  could  you  help  me  to 
that?" 

"You  know  Jocelyn  the  Champion  ?"  Rufin  asked  with  deep  in- 
terest, while  a  cloud  of  sadness  darkened  his  countenance. 

"Did  any  misfortune  befall  him  ?" 

"He  left  here  to  assist  at  a  tourney  in  Beauvoisis  some  time 
ago,  and  the  poor  fellow  never  returned  .  .  .  His  aged  and 
infirm  father  died  of  grief  at  the  disappearance  of  his  son. 
Brave  Jocelyn !  I  entered  the  University  the  year  before  he  left 
it.  He  was  the  best  and  most  courageous  lad  in  the  world 
.  .  .  He  must  have  been  killed  at  the  tourney,  or  assassinated 
on  his  return  to  Paris.  Highwaymen  infest  the  roads." 

"No ;  he  was  not  killed  at  the  tourney  of  Nointel.  The  night 
after  the  passage  of  arms  I  saw  him  take  his  horse  to  return  to 
Paris." 

"Are  you  from  Beauvoisis?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Caillet ;  and  he  added  with  a  sigh :     "Well, 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  93 

that  young  man  is  dead !  Great  pity !  There  are  few  like  him 
who  love  Jacques  Bonhomme."  After  a  moment's  silence  the 
peasant  resumed :  "How  can  I  manage  to  meet  Marcel  ?" 

"By  following  me  to  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers  where  he  is 
to  address  the  people  after  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace.  Come 
with  me." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Caillet;  "I  shall  follow  you." 

"Come,  we  shall  go  out  by  the  Coquiller  gate ;  that's  the  short- 
est route." 

The  old  peasant  walked  in  silence  by  the  side  of  Rufin  who 
sought  to  draw  from  him  some  words  on  the  subject  of  his  trip. 
But  the  serf  remained  impenetrable.  Going  out  by  the  gate  of 
St.  Denis  and  following  the  streets  of  the  suburbs,  that  were  much 
less  crowded  than  those  of  the  city,  Caillet  and  his  guide  had  just 
left  Traversine  to  enter  Montmartre  street  when  they  heard  the 
distant  funeral  chant  of  priests  interspersed  from  time  to  time 
with  plaintive  clarion  notes.  The  peasant  noticed  with  surprise 
that  as  the  chant  drew  nearer  the  residents  along  the  streets 
closed  and  bolted  their  doors. 

"By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope !"  exclaimed  the  student.  "Acci- 
dent is  serving  us  well.  You  have  seen  honors  paid  to  the  re- 
mains of  Perrin  Mace  by  the  officials  and  the  people;  you  will 
now  see  the  honors  paid  to  John  Baillet,  the  cause  of  the  iniquity 
that  Paris  is  feeling  indignant  about.  Yes,  Baillet's  remains 
are  honored  by  the  Regent  and  his  court.  Come  quick ;  the  pro- 
cession is  probably  going  to  the  convent  of  the  Augustian  monks." 
Hastening  his  steps  and  followed  by  the  peasant,  the  student 
reached  the  corner  of  Montmartre  and  Quoque-Heron  streets, 
opposite  which  stood  the  convent,  whose  doors  opened  to  receive 
the  coffin.  "Look,"  said  the  student  turning  to  Caillet.  "How 
significant  is  not  the  contrast  presented  by  these  two  funerals. 
At  Perrin  Mace's  a  large  concourse  of  people  were  present,  seri- 
ous and  moved  with  just  indignation ;  at  John  Baillet's  nobody 
assists  but  the  Regent,  the  princes  his  brothers,  the  courtiers  and 
the  officers  of  the  royal  household — not  one  representative  of  the 


94  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

people!  The  townsmen  leave  a  deep  void  around  this  royal 
demonstration  which  is  indulged  in  as  a  sort  of  challenge  to  the 
popular  one.  Tell  me,  friend,  does  not  the  very  aspect  of  the  two 
processions  appeal  to  the  eye.  At  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace 
we  saw  a  great  mass  composed  of  bourgeois  and  artisans  plainly 
or  even  poorly  dressed;  at  the  funeral  of  John  Baillet  we  see 
only  a  handful  of  courtiers  and  officers  brilliantly  attired  in  gold 
and  silk  and  velvet,  and  decked  in  magnificent  uniforms. 

William  Caillet  listened  to  the  student,  seeking  to  bore  through 
him  with  his  eyes,  and  shaking  his  head  answered  pensively: 
"Jocelyn  did  not  deceive  me,"  and  after  a  pause  he  proceeded : 
"But  what  are  the  Parisians  still  waiting  for?  We  are  ready, 
and  have  long  been  I" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Eufin. 

Immediately  relapsing  into  his  former  close-mouthedness,  the 
peasant  made  no  answer.  The  procession  just  turned  into  the 
street.  The  coffin  of  John  Baillet,  heavily  inlaid  with  gold  and 
preceded  by  royal  heralds  and  sergeants-at-arms  was  borne  by 
twelve  menials  of  the  Eegent  in  costly  livery.  The  young  prince 
and  his  brothers,  accompanied  by  the  seigneurs  of  the  court, 
alone  followed  the  coffin.  Charles,  the  Duke  of  Normandy  and 
now  Eegent  of  the  French,  as  the  eldest  son  of  King  John,  at 
the  time  an  English  prisoner,  had,  like  his  brothers  and  the 
French  nobility,  fled  ignominiously  from  the  battlefield  of  Poi- 
tiers. The  young  man  who  now  governed  Gaul  was  barely 
twenty  years  of  age.  He  was  of  frail  physique  and  pale  com- 
plexion. His  sickly  face  concealed  under  a  kind  and  timid 
mien  a  large  fund  of  obstinacy,  of  perfidy,  of  wile  and  of  wicked- 
ness— odious  vices  usually  rare  in  youths,  except  of  royal  lineage. 
Magnificently  dressed  in  gold-embroidered  green  velvet,  a  black 
headgear  ornamented  with  a  chain  and  brooch  of  costly  stones  on 
his  head,  the  mean-spirited  and  languishing  Eegent  marched 
slowly  leaning  on  a  cane.  At  a  short  distance  behind  him  ad- 
vanced his  brothers,  and  then  came  the  seigneurs  of  the  court, 
among  them  the  marshal  of  Normandy,  who,  ordered  by  the 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  9S 

young  prinoe,  had  superintended  the  mutilation  and  subsequent 
execution  of  Perrin  Mace.  The  marshal,  who  was  the  Sire  of 
Conflans,  one  of  the  Eegent's  favorites,  superb  and  arrogant,  cast 
upon  the  few  and  straggling  spectators  disdainful  and  threaten- 
ing looks,  and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  Sire  of  Charny, 
a  courtier  no  less  loved  by  the  prince  that  he  was  detested  by  the 
people.  Suddenly  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher  felt  his  arm  rude- 
ly seized  by  the  vigorous  hand  of  Caillet,  who  with  distended 
and  flaming  eyes,  and  his  breast  heaving  with  pain,  gasped  out: 

"Look!  .  .  .  There  they  are!  .  .  .  There  are  the 
two !  The  Sire  of  Nointel  and  that  other,  the  knight  of  Chau- 
montel!  .  .  .  Oh,  do  you  see  them  both  with  their  scarlet 
hats,  down  there  with  the  tall  man  in  an  ermine  cloak?"  cried 
out  Caillet  despite  himself. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  see  the  two  seigneurs,"  answered  the  student, 
astonished  at  the  emotion  manifested  by  the  peasant.  "But 
what  makes  you  tremble  so  ?" 

"Down  in  the  country  they  are  thought  dead  or  prisoners  of 
the  English,"  exclaimed  Caillet.  "Fortunately  it  is  not  so  ... 
There  they  are  .  .  .  there  they  are  ...  I  have  seen 
them  with  my  own  eyes !"  and  contracting  his  lips  with  a  fright- 
ful smile  the  serf  added  raising  his  two  fists  to  heaven:  "Oh, 
Mazurec !  .  .  .  Oh,  my  daughter !  .  .  .  Here  I  see  the 
two  men  at  last !  .  .  .  They  will  return  home  for  the  mar- 
riage of  the  handsome  Gloriande  .  .  .  We've  got  them! 
.  .  .  We've  got  them !" 

"The  looks  of  this  man  make  me  shiver,"  thought  the  student 
to  himself,  gazing  at  the  peasant  with  stupor,  and  he  proceeded 
aloud :  "Who  are  those  two  seigneurs  that  you  are  speaking  of?" 

Without  heeding  Eufin,  Caillet  proceeded  to  say:  "Oh,  now 
more  than  ever  am  I  anxious  to  see  Marcel  without  delay.  I 
must  speak  with  the  provost!" 

"In  that  case,"  the  student  said  to  him,  "come  and  rest  at  my 
lodging.  In  the  evening  we  shall  wait  upon  the  provost  at  the 
convent  of  the  Cordeliers.  He  is  to  address  the  people  there  this 


96  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

evening.  But,  once  more,  what  is  the  reason  of  your  excitement 
at  the  sight  of  those  two  seigneurs  in  the  Eegent's  suite  ?" 

The  peasant  cast  a  suspicious  side-glance  at  the  student,  re- 
mained silent  and  his  face  assumed  a  somberer  hue. 

"By  the  bowels  of  the  Pope!"  thought  Rufin  the  Tankard- 
smasher,  "I  have  run  up  against  an  odd  customer ;  he  alternates 
between  dumbness  and  riddles.  He  saddens  even  me  who  am  not 
given  to  melancholy !  He  positively  frightens  even  me  who  am 
no  poltroon!" 

And  accompanied  by  William  Caillet,  the  student  wended  his 
steps  towards  the  quarter  of  the  University. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 
THE  SERPENT  UNDER  THE  GRASS. 

Etienne  Marcel's  house  was  located  near  the  church  of  St. 
Eustace  in  the  quarter  of  the  market.  His  shop,  filled  with 
rolls  of  cloth  that  were  exposed  on  the  shelves,  communicated 
with  a  dining  room.  A  staircase  ran  into  this  room,  leading 
to  the  chambers  on  the  floor  above. 

It  being  night  and  the  shop  closed,  Marguerite,  Marcel's  wife, 
and  Denise  her  niece,  had  gone  upstairs  into  one  of  the  chambers 
where  they  took  up  some  sewing  which  they  were  busily  at  by 
the  light  of  the  lamp.  Marguerite  was  about  forty-five  years. 
She  must  have  been  handsome  in  her  younger  days.  Her  face 
betokened  kindness  and  was  now  pensive  and  grave.  Denise 
was  close  to  eighteen.  Her  cheerful  face,  habitually  serene  and 
candid,  seemed  this  evening  profoundly  sad.  The  two  women 
remained  long  in  silence,  each  engaged  in  her  work.  By  degrees, 
however,  and  without  raising  her  head  Denise's  needle  relaxes, 
and  presently,  dropping  her  hands  upon  her  lap,  the  tears  roll 
out  of  her  eyes.  Marguerite,  no  less  pre-occupied  than  her  niece, 
mechanically  raises  her  eyes  towards  the  young  girl,  and  noticing 
her  tears,  says  tenderly  : 

"Poor  child !  I  know  the  cause  of  your  sorrow  because  I  know 
the  bent  of  your  mind.  I  would  not  have  you  share  a  hope  that 
I  myself  hardly  retain.  But,  after  all,  although  the  continued 
absence  of  Jocelyn  justifies  our  fears,  we  should  not  despair  .  .  . 
He  may  yet  return  .  .  . 

"No,  no,"  answered  Denise,  now  giving  free  course  to  her 
tears.  "If  Jocelyn  still  lived,  he  would  not  have  left  his  aged 
father  in  the  uncertainty  that  hastened  his  death.  If  Jocelyn 
still  lived  he  would  have  communicated  with  my  uncle  Marcel, 


9l  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

whom  he  loved  and  venerated  like  a  father.  No,  no",  she  ex- 
claimed amid  sobs,  "He  is  dead.  I  shall  never  see  him  again !" 

"My  child,  it  is  quite  possible  that  carried  away  by  his  im- 
prudent courage,  Jocelyn  went  to  the  battle  of  Poitiers,  where  he" 
may  have  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  English.  Prisoners  re- 
turn. I  conjure  you,  do  not  yield  to  despair.  I  suffer  to  see  you 
weep." 

In  lieu  of  answer  the  young  girl  rose  and  walked  up  to  Mar- 
guerite, took  her  two  hands,  kissed  them  and  said :  "Dear,  good 
aunt,  you  brush  aside  your  own  sorrows  to  think  of  mine,  and 
you  seek  to  console  me  ...  I  am  ashamed  not  to  know  better 
and  to  repress  my  sorrow  while  you  bear  up  so  courageously  be- 
fore Master  Marcel  and  your  son!" 

"Truly,  Denise,  I  do  not  understand  you",  remarked  Mar- 
guerite slightly  embarrassed.  "My  life  is  so  happy,  I  need  no 
special  courage  to  bear  it — " 

"Oh,  oh !  Do  I  not  see  you  daily  receive  Master  Marcel  and 
your  son  Andre  with  a  smile  on  your  lips  and  a  serene  face,  while 
your  heart  is  in  a  storm  of  anxieties — " 

"You  are  mistaken,  Denise !" 

"Oh,  believe  rne;  it  is  no  indiscreet  curiosity  that  guided  me 
when  I  sought  to  penetrate  your  feelings.  It  was  the  desire  to 
say  nothing  that  might  wound  your  secret  thoughts  whenever  I 
am  alone  with  you,  as  now  so  often  happens  good  dear  aunt." 

"You  dear  child!"  exclaimed  Marguerite  embracing  Denise 
with  effusion  and  now  making  no  effort  to  restrain  her  own  tears. 
"How  could  I  fail  to  be  profoundly  effected  by  so  much  de- 
licacy and  tenderness?  How  could  I  fail  to  respond  with  un- 
reserved confidence?"  Marguerite  stopped  but  after  a  last  few 
moments  of  hesitancy  and  making  a  supreme  effort  she  proceed- 
ed: *'"Tis  true;  you  did  not  deceive  yourself.  Yes,  my  life  is 
now  spent  amid  anxieties  and  alarms.  I  thank  you  for  having 
drawn  the  secret  from  me.  I  shall  now,  at  least,  be  able  to 
weep  before  you  without  reserve,  and  give  a  loose  to  my  heart. 
Having  paid  that  tribute  to  feebleness,  I  shall  be  able  all  the 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  99 

better  to  appear  serene  before  my  husband  and  my  son!  Oh 
...  I  admit  it;  my  only  fear  is  to  have  them  discover  that  I 
suffer!  I  know  Marcel's  love  for  me.  It  reciprocates  mine.  If 
he  knew  I  was  wretched  I  might  cause  his  own  calmness  and 
fortitude  to  weaken  that  never  yet  have  abandoned  him  and 
that  he  needs  now  more  than  ever  in  these  perilous  days." 

"Oh,  the  women  who  envy  you  would  at  this  moment  pity 
you,  did  ihey  but  see  and  hear  you,  dear  aunt!" 

"Yes",  replied  Marguerite  with  bitterness ;  "the  wife  of  Marcel, 
the  idol  of  the  people  ...  of  Marcel,  the  real  king  of  Paris, 
is  envied.  They  envy  the  companion  of  that  great  citizen.  Oh, 
they  should  rather  pity  her  .  .  .  Tender  indulgences  .  .  . 
sweet  joys  of  the  hearth,  the  happiness  of  the  humblest  .  .  . 
since  long  I  know  you  no  more!  The  artisan,  the  merchant, 
their  day's  labors  being  done,  at  least  enjoy  in  the  bosoia  of 
their  families  some  rest  until  the  morrow.  My  poor  husband, 
on  the  contrary,  spends  his  nights  at  work  .  .  .  while  I, 
his  wife,  remain  a  prey  to  constant  uneasiness  night  and  day, 
ever  fearing  for  his  life  or  his  son's !" 

"You  have  no  reason  to  tremble  for  the  life  of  Master  Marcel, 
who  can  not  take  a  step  without  he  is  surrounded  'by  a  crowd  of 
devoted  friends." 

"I  fear  the  Eegent's  hatred,  and  that  of  the  nobles  and  pre- 
lates." 

At  that  moment  Agnes  the  Bigot,  Marguerite's  confidential 
servant,  entered  the  room  and  said  to  her  mistress:  "Madam, 
the  wife  of  Master  Maillart,  the  councilman,  has  come  to  visit 
you." 

"So  late !     Did  you  tell  her  I  was  home  ?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

Marguerite  made  a  gesture  of  impatience  and  annoyance,  dried 
her  tears  and  said  to  Denise  in  an  undertone :  "You  just  men- 
tioned envious  women  .  .  .  Petronille  Maillart  is  of  the 
number  .  .  .  Hide  your  tears,  I  pray  you,  to  avoid  her 
drawing  wrongful  conclusions  from  our  sadness.  She  is  cruelly 


ioo  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

jealous  of  the  popularity  of  Marcel;  and  Maillart,  I  believe, 
shares  the  feelings  of  his  wife/' 

"Can  Maillart  be  jealous  of  my  uncle,  the  friend  of  his  child- 
hood !" 

"Maillart  is  a  weak  man  whom  his  wife  dominates." 

"Maillart  is  always  speaking  about  running  to  arms,  and  of 
massacring  the  nobles  and  priests." 

"Violence  is  not  strength,  Denise;  the  most  excited  natures 
usually  are  the  least  firm  .  .  .  But  silence !  Here  is  Petro- 
nille  .  .  .  What  can  be  the  purpose  of  a  visit  at  this  hour  ?" 

Petronille  Maillart  entered.  She  was  still  in  her  mourning 
garb.  From  the  instant  of  her  entrance  she  darted  an  inquisitive 
glance  at  the  wife  of  Marcel  and  at  Denise,  and  undoubtedly  ob- 
served the  traces  of  recent  tears,  seeing  that  a  smile  flitted  over 
her  lips.  Affecting  great  sympathy  she  said : 

"Excuse  me,  Dame  Marguerite,  for  coming  to  your  house  at 
so  late  an  hour;  but  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  upon  serious  mat- 
ters." 

"You  are  always  welcome,  Dame  Petronille." 

"I  fear  not,  at  this  moment.  Sorrow  loves  solitude,  and  I 
notice  with  pain  that  your  eyes  and  those  of  your  dear  niece 
are  still  red  with  tears.  Just  heaven!  Do  you  entertain  any 
fears  for  our  excellent  friend  Marcel.  Do  the  people,  perhaps, 
incline  to  deny  the  value  of  the  services  he  has  rendered  Paris? 
Ingratitude  of  the  masses !" 

"Be  at  ease,  Dame  Petronille,"  answered  Marguerite  interrupt- 
ing her.  "Thanks  to  God,  I  entertain  no  fears  on  the  score  of 
my  husband.  It  is  true  Denise  and  I  feel  sad.  Shortly  before 
you  came  in,  we  were  speaking  of  a  friend  whose  fate  is  making 
us  uneasy.  You  have  often  seen  him  here.  It  is  Jocelyn  the 
Champion." 

"Surely ;  I  remember  him  well.  A  veritable  Hercules  .  .  . 
was  the  poor  fellow  killed?" 

"No;  we  are  not  ready  to  believe  that  such  a  misfortune 
has  happened.  But  it  is  a  long  time  we  have  not  heard  from  him." 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  101 

"Nothing  more  natural,  Dame  Marguerite.  I  can  now  ac- 
count for  your  tears  .  .  .  But  let  me  come  to  the  purpose 
of  my  visit,  which,  seeing  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  must  seem 
strange  to  you.  The  curfew  has  sounded  long  ago.  You  know 
how  attached  Maillart  and  I  are  to  you  and  your  husband/' 

"I  feel  thankful  for  your  friendship." 

"Now,  then,  the  duty  of  good  friends  is  to  speak  frankly." 

"Certainly,  there  is  nothing  more  precious  than  sincere  friends. 
Pray  speak,  Dame  Petronille  I" 

"Very  well,  dear  Marguerite;  your  absence  from  the  funeral 
of  poor  Perrin  Mace  has  been  noticed.  I  attended  the  cere- 
mony; you  see  it  on  my  clothes.  In  my  quality  of  a  council- 
man's wife  I  felt  bound  to  render  this  last  homage  to  the  mem- 
ory of  the  poor  victim  of  an  iniquity." 

"Madam     .     .     .  '  I  can  only  pity  such  a  victim." 

"And  do  you  not  revolt  at  the  fate  of  the  unfortunate  man  ?" 

"That  great  iniquity  has  revolted  my  husband.  In  his  quality 
of  the  first  magistrate  of  the  town,  he  was  bound  to  head  the 
procession." 

"First  magistrate  of  the  town!"  rejoined  Dame  Petronille 
with  ill-suppressed  bitterness.  "Yes,  until  his  successor  is 
elected.  Any  one  of  the  councilmen  can  be  chosen  provost. 
The  election  decides  that." 

"Surely,"  answered  Marguerite,  exchanging  looks  with  Denise 
who  had  resumed  her  sewing.  "My  husband's  duty,"  continued 
Marcel's  wife,  "was  first  to  protest  against  the  crime  of  the 
Regent's  courtiers  by  solemnly  attending  the  funeral  of  Perrin 
Mace  .  .  .  As  to  me,  Dame  Petronille,  knowing  that  it  is 
not  the  custom  for  women  to  assist  at  these  sad  ceremonies,  I 
stayed  at  home." 

"But  do  people  care  for  custom  in  such  grave  circumstances  ?" 
cried  Mai  Hart's  wife.  "One  consults  only  his  heart,  as  I  did. 
Dressed  in  black  from  head  to  foot,  I  joined  the  funeral  pro- 
cession, moaning  and  weeping  all  the  tears  I  had.  I  thought  I 
would  let  you  know  it  as  a  friend,  my  dear  Dame  Marguerite. 


loa  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  you  did  not  follow  my  example." 

"Each  is  the  judge  of  his  own  conduct,  Madam." 

"No  doubt,  when  none  is  concerned  but  ourselves.  But  in  this 
matter,  your  husband,  our  excellent  friend  Marcel,  was  also  con- 
cerned. I  therefore  fear  that,  under  the  circumstances,  you 
have  done  him  great  harm  in  the  popular  esteem." 

"What  is  it  you  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  my  God !  Poor  dear  dame !  Do  you  think  I  would  have 
made  haste  to  come  to  you  after  curfew  if  my  purpose  were  not 
to  give  you  charitable  advice?" 

"I  do  not  question  your  good  intentions.  Marcel  himself 
imparted  to  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace  the  solemn  character 
that  has  been  attached  to  it.  He  attended  it  at  the  head  of 
the  councilmen.  In  that  he  fulfilled  his  duty." 

"I  know  that  my  husband  marched  after  yours,  madam," 
spitefully  rejoined  the  envious  woman,  "seeing  that  in  his 
quality  of  provost,  Master  Marcel  has  precedence  over  all  the 
councilmen  .  .  .  He  is  acknowledged  by  all  as  the  leader." 

"Oh,  madam!  There  is  no  question  of  rank,"  cried  Mar- 
guerite. "I  only  meant  to  say  that  Marcel  attended  the  funeral." 

"Yes ;  but  you  did  not,  Dame  Marguerite ;  and  people  said  so. 
They  remarked :  'See,  the  wife  of  Master  Maillart,  the  council- 
man, follows  the  hearse  of  Perrin  Mace !  Oh !  Oh !  She  does 
not  care  about  custom,  not  she !  She  meant,  like  her  husband, 
to  protest  with  her  presence  and  her  tears  against  the  iniquity 
of  the  court.  How,  then,  does  it  happen  that  the  wife  of  the 
first  magistrate  remains  at  home  ?  Can  it  be  that  Master  Mar- 
cel takes  the  action  of  the  Eegent  and  court  less  to  heart  than 
he  pretends  ?  Can  it  be  that,  as  the  proverb  puts  it,  he  is  trying 
to  run  with  the  hares  and  hunt  with  the  hounds  ?  Is  he  secretly 
laying  the  pipes  for  a  reconciliation  between  himself  and  the 
court  ?  Can  Master  Marcel  contemplate  betraying  the  people  ?' " 

"Oh !  That's  infamous !"  cried  out  Denise,  unable  to  control 
her  indignation.  "To  dare  accuse  Master  Marcel  of  treason  be- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  103 

cause  his  wife  did  not  attend  the  funeral  procession  and  parade 
an  affected  sorrow!" 

"Denise!"  Marguerite  quickly  called  out  to  the  impetuous 
young  girl,  fearing  the  conversation,  puerile  in  appearance,  would 
take  a  still  more  acrid  turn,  and  entail  dangerous  results  for  Mar- 
cel. 

It  was  too  late.  Rising,  Dame  Petronille  addressed  Denise 
in  a  bitter  tone :  "Listen,  learn,  my  friend,  that  my  pain,  no  less 
than  my  husband's,  was  not  affectation !" 

"Dame  Petronille,"  Marguerite  interposed  anxiously,  "that  was 
not  Denise's  meaning  .  .  .  Listen  to  me  ...  I  pray 
you." 

"Madam,"  dryly  answered  Maillart's  wife,  "I  came  here  to 
warn  you  as  a  true  friend  of  the  thoughtless,  no  doubt,  but  never- 
theless, dangerous  rumors  against  Master  Marcel's  popularity. 
These  rumors  are  at  this  very  hour  circulating  in  Paris  .  .  . 
So  far  from  thanking  me,  I  am  received  here  with  insult.  The 
lesson  is  good.  I  shall  profit  by  it." 

"Dame  Petronille—"  x 

"Enough,  Madam.  Neither  I  nor  my  husband  shall  ever 
again  set  foot  in  your  house.  I  meant,  like  a  friend,  to  point 
out  to  you  the  danger  that  Master  Marcel's  good  name  is  running. 
I  have  done  my  duty,  let  come  what  may !" 

"Dame  Petronille,"  Marguerite  answered  with  sad  but  severe 
dignity,  "since  Marcel  consecrated  his  life  to  public  affairs, 
there  is  not  a  word  or  action  of  his  that  he  cannot  answer  for 
with  head  erect.  He  has  done  good  for  good's  sake,  without  even 
expecting  anything  from  the  gratitude  of  men.  He  will  remain 
indifferent  to  their  ingratitude.  If  ever  his  services  are  not  ap- 
preciated, he  will  take  with  him  into  his  retirement  the  con- 
sciousness of  ever  having  acted  like  an  honorable  man.  As  to 
me,  I  shall  bless  the  day  when  my  husband  should  quit  public 
affairs  so  that  we  may  resume  our  obscure  lives  and  ordinary  oc- 
cupations." 

So  obvious  was  the  sincerity  with  which  Marguerite  expressed 


KM  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

herself  in  speaking  of  her  delight  to  return  to  obscurity,  that 
Dame  Petronille,  furious  at  having  been  unable  to  wound  the 
woman  whom  she  envied,  lost  all  control  of  herself.  "You  err," 
she  declared,  "in  these  days,  it  does  not  depend  upon  a  man 
like  Master  Marcel  to  quietly  bury  himself  in  a  retreat.  No! 
No!  When  one  has  been  the  idol  of  Paris,  you  must  either 
keep  or  lose  the  confidence  of  the  people.  If  it  is  lost,  you  are 
looked  upon  as  a  traitor.  And  do  you  know  what  is  dealt  out  to 
traitors?  Death!" 

"Can  the  enemies  of  Marcel  have  the  audacity  of  pointing 
at  him  as  a  traitor?"  cried  Marguerite  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"Do  they  aim  at  his  life  ?  Come,  Dame  Petronille,  your  silence 
upsets  me." 

Petronille  was  about  to  answer  when  the  voice  of  Marcel 
was  heard  outside  the  chamber  cheerfully  announcing:  "Mar- 
guerite! Denise!  I  have  good  news!  Good  news!"  Dame 
Petronille  remained  silent,  and  stiffly  bowing,  rapidly  took  her 
departure  without  uttering  a  word. 


CHAPTER  V. 
CHAKLES  THE  WICKED. 

Marcel  entered.  The  radiant  joy  that  suffused  his  face  upon 
entering  the  house  now  made  room  for  amazement  at  the  silent 
and  brusque  departure  of  Maillart's  wife,  who  swept  by  him  at 
the  door.  He  looked  at  Marguerite  and  Denise  inquiringly,  and 
noticing  the  disquietude  and  even  alarm  depicted  on  their  faces 
by  the  odious  calumnies  of  Petronille,  he  hastened  to  ask: 
"What  is  the  matter,  Marguerite?  Why  did  our  friend's  wife 
leave  in  that  strange  manner  ?" 

"Oh,  uncle  I"  broke  out  the  young  girl  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"There  are  very  wicked  people  .  .  .  serpents  and  vipers." 

"They  are  to  be  pitied,  my  child.  But  I  hope  you  do  not 
refer  to  wicked  people  in  connection  with  Maillart's  wife  ?" 

"My  friend,"  said  Marguerite  with  embarrassment,  "idle  talk 
deserves  contempt  only.  Nevertheless,  in  times  like  these  idle 
talk  may  have  serious  consequences." 

"Well,"  observed  Marcel  dejectedly,  "I  have  but  an  hour  to 
spend  with  you.  I  am  tired  out.  I  hoped  to  enjoy  some  rest. 
I  came  full  of  joy  with  good  news  that  was  to  make  you  happy 
as  it  made  me.  And  here  it  is  all  spoiled.  But  these  minutes 
of  quiet  and  relaxation  are  sweet  to  me  at  your  side,  dear  objects 
of  my  love." 

"These  moments  are  quite  rare,"  said  Marguerite  sighing,  "and 
they  are  as  precious  to  us  as  to  you  ...  do  not  doubt,  be- 
loved Marcel!" 

"I  know  it.  Fortunately,  you  are  not  one  of  those  spiritless 
women,  whose  constant  anxieties  are  a  torment  to  their  hus- 
bands, who  love  them  and  suffer  through  their  uneasiness.  No, 
you  are  brave.  You  accept  with  fortitude  the  conditions  that 
circumstances  raise  around  us,  convinced  that  my  conduct  is  up- 


106  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

right.  I  see  you  ever  serene,  and  a  smile  on  your  lips.  I  feel 
refreshed  in  your  wise  and  sweet  tranquility,  and  gather  new 
strength  for  the  struggle,  for  the  present  my  life  is  one  con- 
tinuous struggle.  It  is  a  holy  struggle,  glorious,  fruitful  .  .  . 
but  it  exhausts  .  .  .  nevertheless,  thanks  to  you,  dear  Mar- 
guerite, I  ever  find  at  our  hearth  the  happy  quiet,  the  confident 
ease  that  are  to  the  soul  what  a  peaceful  sleep  is  to  the  body — " 

"Dear  Etienne,  we  shall  speak  later  on  the  visit  of  Dame 
Petronille,"  Marguerite  broke  in,  fearing  to  disturb  the  rest 
her  husband  had  come  in  search  of  in  her  company.  "You 
have  been  announcing  a  good  news  .  .  .  We  are  waiting  for 
it." 

"Yes,  I  prefer  that,"  answered  the  provost  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
taking  a  seat  between  his  wife  and  Denise,  while  the  latter  quietly 
removed  his  hat  and  cloak.  "Coming  upstairs  I  told  Agnes  to 
place  an  additional  cover  at  supper." 

"Will  our  son  return  this  evening  from  the  Bastille  of  St. 
Antoine?"  quickly  inquired  Marguerite.  "Was  that  the  good 
news  you  brought  us  ?  We  shall  be  glad  to  see  him." 

"No,  no!  Andre  will  not  return  before  to-morrow  morning. 
He  is  to  keep  watch  over  night  at  the  Bastille  with  his  company 
of  cross-bowmen.  My  son  must  put  the  example  of  order  in  the 
service.  He  will  neglect  none  of  his  duties." 

"And  who  is  to  take  supper  with  us,  uncle?" 

"Why,  dear  Denise?"  answered  Marcel  smiling.  "Who?  One 
of  our  best  friends.  Guess,  if  you  can." 

"Simon  the  Feather-dealer  ?  .  .  .  Peter  Caillet?  .  .  . 
Master  Delille?  .  .  .  Philip  Giffart?  .  .  .  John  God- 
dard?  .  .  .  Josserand?  .  .  .  John  Sorel?  .  .  ." 

"No,  Denise.  Look  not  for  our  guest  among  my  friends  of  the 
council.  He  is  not  yet  old  enough  to  figure  in  such  serious  func- 
tions. But,  so  as  to  help  you  guess,  I  shall  add  that  our  guest 
for  this  evening  has  just  arrived  from  the  country." 

"Can  it  be  my  old  cousin  who  lives  with  his  daughter  at  Vau- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  107 

couleurs  ?  Can  he  have  left  the  quiet  valley  of  the  Meuse  to  come 
and  see  us?" 

"No,  dear  Denise.  The  friend  whom  we  expect  has  been 
away  from  Paris  only  a  short  time.  Cudgel  your  memory." 

"A  short  time  ?"  Denise  repeated  mechanically,  and  struck  by 
a  sudden  thought  but  hardly  daring  to  indulge  it,  the  poor  child 
grew  pale,  joined  her  two  trembling  hands,  and  fixing  upon  her 
uncle  a  look  at  once  full  of  anxiety  and  hope,  she  stammered: 
"Uncle,  what  is  it  you  say  ?  Can  it  be  ?  .  . 

"I  shall  add  that  the  fate  of  that  friend  has  recently  made  us 
feel  uneasy." 

"It  is  he!"  cried  Denise  throwing  herself  at  Marcel's  neck. 
"Can  it  be  ?  .  .  .  Jocelyn  is  back  .  .  .  God  be  praised !" 

"Jocelyn !"  exclaimed  Marguerite  joining  in  the  surprise  and 
joy  of  Denise.  "Have  you  seen  him  ?  Is  he  in  Paris  ?" 

"Yes ;  I  saw  the  worthy  fellow  this  morning  at  the  town  hall. 
He  is  in  good  health,  although  he  has  suffered  a  good  deal  during 
his  travels." 

The  emotion  and  tears  of  Denise  must  be  left  undescribed. 
After  the  first  ebullition  of  joy  was  over,  Marcel  said  to  his 
wife:  "I  was  presiding  at  the  town  hall  over  the  council  when 
one  of  our  sergeants  handed  me  a  letter.  I  opened  it  and  read 
that  Jocelyn  requested  to  speak  with  me.  I  ordered  him  to  be 
taken  upstairs  to  my  room,  and  immediately  after  the  session  I 
hastened  thither.  Oh,  my  poor  Denise !  I  confess  it.  I  hardly 
recognized  our  friend,  he  was  so  changed !  He  has  lost  flesh 
.  his  eyes  are  hollow  ...  his  cheek-bones  stick  out." 

"What  happened  to  him  ?"  asked  Denise.  "Did  he  go  to  fight 
the  English,  as  my  aunt  feared.  Does  he  come  from  prison  ?" 

"He  comes  from  prison,  but  did  not  go  to  war,"  answered 
Marcel.  "This  is  what  happened:  As  you  know,  he  left  for 
Nointel  in  Beauvoisis.  After  he  left  Nointel  at  night,  and 
taking  rest  for  an  hour  the  next  morning  at  Beaumont-sur-Oise, 
he  resumed  his  journey.  A  short  while  after  he  heard  the  rapid 
gallop  of  a  horse  approaching  behind  him;  turning  he  saw  a- 


io8  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

man  with  a  woman  on  his  horse's  crupper  fleeing  before  three 
armed  knights  who  followed  at  a  distance.  The  couple  drew  in  a 
few  steps  from  Jocelyn,  and  the  man,  a  lad  of  about  twenty, 
said  to  our  friend :  'We  are  fleeing  from  the  castle  of  the  Sire  of 
Beaumont ;  he  is  the  guardian  of  my  sister  who  accompanies  me, 
and  he  sought  to  violate  her.  He  is  riding  after  us  with  his 
men.  You  are  armed.  For  pity's  sake  defend  us;  help  me  to 
protect  my  sister !  .  .  . 

"I  know  the  heart  and  courage  of  Jocelyn,"  said  Denise  deeply 
moved.  "He  surely  took  the  part  of  the  unfortunate  girl !" 

"Without  hesitating,  because,  as  he  said  to  me,  in  his  capacity 
of  champion  he  could  not  refuse  so  good  a  case.  The  Sire  of 
Beaumont  arrived  with  his  two  equerries  .  ' .  . 

"And  the  combat  started!"  cried  Denise  joining  her  hands. 
"Poor  Jocelyn !  Alone  against  three !" 

"He  was  strong  enough  to  overcome  them.  Unfortunately, 
however,  at  the  very  start  of  the  action  one  of  the  combatants 
dealt  him  such  a  furious  blow  from  behind  with  a  mace  on  the 
head  that  Jocelyn's  casque  was  broken.  He  fell  from  his  horse 
unconscious  .  .  .  and  when  he  awoke  he.found  himself  half 
naked  lying  on  straw,  and  aching  at  every  limb  at  the  bottom  of  a 
dungeon." 

"Poor  Jocelyn !"  said  Marguerite.  "That  dungeon,  no  doubt, 
was  some  prison  cell  in  the  castle  of  Beaumont,  whither  our 
wounded  friend  was  transported  after  the  combat,  stripped  of  his 
arms  and  in  a  dying  condition  ?" 

"Yes,  dear  Marguerite;  and  Jocelyn  remained  in  that  cell, 
a  prey  to  a  devouring  fever,  until  his  recent  release." 

"How  he  must  have  suffered  I  But,  uncle,  how  did  our  poor 
friend  manage  to  come  out  ?" 

"A  few  days  after  taking  Jocelyn  prisoner,  the  Sire  of  Beau- 
mont departed  with  his  men  to  fight  the  English.  Whether  he 
was  killed  or  captured  at  the  rout  of  Poitiers  is  not  known. 
But  two  days  ago  the  Sire  of  Beaumont's  castle  was  attacked  and 
taken  by  the  troop  of  a  certain  Captain  Griffith." 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  109 

"That  horrible  adventurer,  who  pushed  forward  as  far  as  St. 
Cloud  and  gave  us  such  a  fright?"  asked  Denise.  "I  remember 
you  left  the  city  at  the  head  of  the  militia,  ran  against  and 
forced  him  to  retreat.  Good  Godl  In  what  hands  did  poor 
Jocelyn  fall !" 

"Be  not  alarmed,  dear  child!  By  a  singular  accident  our 
friend  has  had  only  cause  to  praise  the  adventurer.  That  sav- 
age and  eccentric  warrior  seems  sometimes  to  yield  to  generous 
impulses.  After  having,  according  to  their  wont,  sacked  the 
castle  of  Beaumont,  massacred  the  men  and  violated  the  women, 
the  band  delved  down  into  the  subterranean  passages  in  quest  of 
booty.  Thus  they  came  to  Jocelyn's  dungeon,  broke  his  chains 
and  lead  him  to  Captain  Griffith,  who  on  that  day  happily  hap- 
pened to  be  in  a  good  humor.  He  cross-questioned  our  friend, 
and  no  doubt  struck  by  his  brave  and  robust  appearance,  despite 
all  his  sufferings,  made  him  an  offer  to  enlist  in  his  company. 
Jocelyn  declined.  Griffith,  who  was  half  in  his  cups,  then 
ordered  Jocelyn  to  be  furnished  with  clothes  and  two  florins, 
and,  alluding  to  our  friend's  thinness  said  to  him :  'When  you 
shall  have  regained  some  meat  on  your  bones  you  will  prove  a 
rude  customer;  if  I  again  run  across  you  I  should  be  pleased  to 
break  a  lance  with  you.  You  are  free.  Go!  And  my  patron 
saint,  the  Devil,  be  good  to  you  I" 

"That  Griffith  is  a  dreadful  bandit  1"  repeated  Denise.  "And 
yet  I  cannot  but  feel  thankful  to  him  for  having  liberated 
Jocelyn." 

"And  then,"  put  in  Marguerite,  "our  friend  proceeded  straight 
back  to  Paris?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Marcel  sadly,  ."here  another  and  unexpected 
sorrow  awaited  him." 

"Oh!"  said  Denise,  "his  father's  death?  It  must  have  been 
a  severe  blow  to  him !" 

"Yes ;  the  blow  was  severe.  Picture  to  yourself  what  he  must 
have  felt.  On  his  arrival,  he  hastened  joyfully  to  the  house 
of  our  old  friend  Lebrenn,  the  bookseller.  There  he  first  learned 


no  rHE  IRON  TREVET. 

of  his  loss  .  .  .  He  spent  the  whole  of  yesterday  and  the 
night  in  solitude  and  mourning.  This  morning  he  came  to  sco 
me  at  the  town  hall.  This  evening  we  shall  be  at  least  able  to 
offer  him  the  consolation  of  a  tried  friendship." 

Agnes  the  Bigot  came  in  at  this  juncture  and  handed  to  Marcel 
a  small  gold  medal  enameled  in  green  and  bearing  the  letters 
"C"  and  "N,"  surmounted  by  a  crown.  "A  man/'  she  an- 
nounced, "wrapped  up  to  the  nose  in  a  cloak  and  whose  eyes 
are  barely  visible,  is  in  the  shop ;  he  wishes  to  see  Master  Mar- 
cel without  delay ;  he  handed  me  the  medal  with  orders  to  bring 
it  to  you/' 

Marcel  was  visibly  surprised  at  the  sight  of  the  medal,  and  said 
to  his  wife:  "Dear  Marguerite,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  enjoy  even 
the  short  hour  of  rest  that  I  promised  mysel.  Leave  me  alone 
now.  Go  down  with  Denise.  Jocelyn  cannot  now  be  long 
coming.  Do  not  stay  supper  for  me" ;  and  turning  to  Agnes  the 
Bigot :  "Lead  the  man  upstairs." 

"Marcel,"  said  Marguerite  uneasily,  while  the  servant  with- 
drew to  execute  her  master's  orders,  "you  are  fatigued,  and  will 
you  not  take  even  time  enough  for  a  meal  ?" 

"In  a  few  minutes,  when  I  go  down  again,  I  shall  take  a  few 
mouthfuls  before  leaving." 

"What!    Another  night!" 

"I  convoked  a  night  meeting  to  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers," 
explained  Marcel,  assuming  a  serious  expression;  "the  funeral 
of  Perin  Mace  may  be  the  signal  for  transcend  ant  happenings. 
We  must  be  ready  for  all  eventualities — " 

The  provost  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  seeing  the  closely 
cloaked  man  appear  at  the  door  led  by  Agnes.  Marguerite  left 
feeling  all  the  more  alarmed,  the  unfinished  words  of  her  husband 
having  recalled  to  her  mind  the  recent  conversation  with 
Petronille  Maillart.  After  the  departure  of  the  two  women,  the 
stranger,  first  making  certain  that  the  door  was  closed,  removed 
his  cloak  and  threw  it  on  a  chair.  The  man,  extremely  small  of 
stature,  twenty-five  years  at  the  most,  and  dressed  plainly  in  a 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  m 

buff  jacket,  was  of  distinguished  and  regular  features ;  yet  despite 
the  gracefulness  of  his  carriage,  the  affability  of  his  manners  and 
the  almost  caressing  melody  of  his  voice,  there  lingered  a  sardonic 
and  insidious  leer  in  his  smile  that  betrayed  the  wickedness  of  his 
soul  and  the  perversity  of  his  heart.  More  and  more  concerned 
by  the  man's  presence,  Marcel  seemed  to  accept  his  visit  as  one  of 
those  disagreeable  duties  that  men  in  public  life  must  frequently 
submit  to ;  nevertheless  his  icy  attitude  and  his  look  of  suspicion 
fully  revealed  the  aversion  he  entertained  for  his  caller,  to  whom 
he  said :  "I  did  not  expect  to  receive  this  evening  the  King  of 
Navarre  in  my  house." 

Charles  the  Wicked — that  was  the  man's  well  deserved  nick- 
name— answered  with  a  smile  and  with  his  insinuating  voice, 
that  most  perfidious  of  all  his  charms :  "Do  not  kings  pay  each 
other  mutual  visits?  What  is  there  surprising  in  that  Charles, 
King  of  Navarre,  should  pay  a  visit  to  Marcel,  King  of  the 
people  of  Paris  ?  We  are  sovereigns,  both  of  us." 

"Sire,"  answered  Marcel  impatiently,  "please  to  state  the  pur- 
pose of  your  visit.  What  do  you  wish  of  me  ?  No  useless  words !" 

"You  are  short  of  speech." 

"Shortness  is  the  language  of  business.  Moreover,  it  is  well  to 
measure  the  words  one  utters  in  your  presence." 

"Do  you,  then,  continue  to  mistrust  me  ?" 

"Always,  more  than  ever." 

"I  love  frankness." 

"Come,  to  the  point,  direct,  and  without  mental  reservation." 

For  a  moment  Charles  the  Wicked  remained  silent;  then 
boldly  fixing  his  viper's  eyes  upon  the  provost,  he  answered, 
slowly  weighing  each  word : 

"What  do  I  wish,  Marcel?  I  wish  to  be  King  of  the  French 
.  .  .  This  astonishes  you !" 

"No,"  answered  the  provost  with  a  coolness  that  stupefied 
Charles  the  Wicked ;  "sooner  or  later  you  were  bound  to  make  the 
disclosure." 


112  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

"You  foresaw  things  from  a  great  distance  .  .  .  How 
long  is  it  since  you  foresaw  it  ?" 

"Since  I  saw  your  creature  Robert  le  Coq,  Bishop  of  Laon, 
throw  himself  with  ardor  on  the  side  of  the  popular  party,  and 
show  himself  one  of  the  most  violent  enemies  of  King  John, 
whose  daughter  you  married — " 

"Nevertheless,  if  my  memory  does  not  fail  me,  you  made  good 
use  of  the  influence  of  the  Bishop  of  Laon  in  the  States  General 
to  induce  them  to  accept  your  famous  ordinance  of  reforms." 

"I  use  any  instrument  that  aids  me  in  doing  good." 

"And  then  you  break  it  ?" 

"If  necessary.  But  Robert  le  Coq  is  too  subtle  to  be  broken. 
Nevertheless,  despite  his  finesse,  I  have  penetrated  his  secret 
motives." 

"And  that  is?" 

"The  people  of  Paris  have  with  their  keen  eyes  and  tongues 
surnamed  the  Bishop  of  Laon  'a  two-edged  dirk ;'  the  people,  Sire, 
are  right.  By  showing  himself  so  hostile  to  King  John,  your 
father-in-law,  and  afterwards  so  hostile  to  the  Regent,  your  broth- 
er-in-law, the  Bishop  of  Laon  played  a  double  game.  He  aimed, 
with  the  aid  of  the  popular  party,  to  first  of  all  dethrone  the 
reigning  dynasty;  and  then  ...  to  give  the  crown  to  you. 
That  is  the  reason,  Sire,  why  I  am  not  taken  by  surprise  at  your 
admission  that  you  wish  to  be  King  of  the  French." 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  pretensions  ?" 

"Your  chances  are  fair  of  mounting  the  throne.  I  am  ready 
to  admit  that." 

"With  your  help,  Marcel?" 

"I  might  enter  into  your  projects." 

"Is  that  true !"  cried  the  King  of  Navarre,  unable  to  conceal 
his  joy ;  but  after  a  short  moment's  reflection,  and  casting  upon 
the  provost  a  defiant  look,  he  presently  proceeded :  "Marcel,  you 
are  laying  a  trap  for  me  ...  I  know  how  and  more  than 
once  you  have  expressed  yourself  regarding  me.  Your  words  were 
extremely  severe." 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  113 

"Sire,  you  are  called  Charles  the  Wicked.  I  hold  the  name  fits 
you.  But  you  are  active,  subtle,  venturesome ;  you  command  num- 
erous armed  bands;  your  partisans  are  powerful;  your  wealth 
considerable.  You  are  a  force,  that,  at  a  given  moment,  may  be 
useful.  For  that  reason  I  caused  your  release  from  prison  where 
your  father-in-law  kept  you  locked  up." 

"So  that  I,  Charles,  King  of  Navarre,  am  to  be  merely  an  in- 
strument in  the  hands  of  Marcel,  the  cloth  merchant/'3 

"Sire,  you  have  your  views;  I  have  mine,  and  I  shall  express 
them  to  you.  The  Regent,  hypocritic  and  stubborn,  mocks  at  his 
oaths.  He  signed  and  promulgated  the  reform  ordinances ;  he  em- 
braced me  in  tears,  calling  me  his  good  father ;  he  swore  by  God 
and  all  the  saints  that  he  desired  the  welfare  of  the  people  and 
that  he  would  loyally  adhere  to  the  great  measures  decreed  by  the 
national  assembly.  The  Regent  has  broken  all  his  promises.  His 
ruse,  his  well  calculated  indolence,  his  ill  will,  the  increasing 
audacity  of  the  court  and  the  nobility,  who  rule  supreme  in  their 
domains,  either  hamper  or  prevent  the  execution  of  the  new 
edicts.  The  Regent  is  secretly  inciting  the  jealousy  of  a  large 
number  of  communal  cities  against  Paris,  that,  as  they  put  it,  Ms 
seeking  to  govern  Gaul'.  The  nobility  in  its  deliberate  inaction, 
and  sheltered  by  its  fortified  castles,  allows  the  English  to  ex- 
tend their  depredations  to  the  very  gates  of  Paris.  The  royal 
false  money  continues  to  ruin  commerce  and  to  destroy  credit. 
Finally,  only  two  days  ago,  the  Regent's  favorite  caused  a 
bourgeois  of  Paris  to  be  mutilated  and  executed  under  our  very 
eyes,  thereby  proclaiming  the  contempt  of  the  court  for  the  laws 
enacted  by  the  States  General.  The  plan  of  the  court  is  simple : 
to  tire  out  the  country  by  disasters :  to  render  impossible  the  good 
results  that  were  justly  expected  from  the  national  assembly,  a 
popular  government  where  the  King  is  no  longer  master  but 
servant:  finally,  the  court  expects  that  one  of  these  days  it  can 
tell  the  people,  whose  sufferings  will  havo  become  intolerable 
by  these  machinations:  'Ye  people,  behold  the  fruit  of  your 
rebellion.  In  lieu  of  having  remained  submissive,  as  in  the 


114  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

past,  to  the  sovereign  authority  of  your  kings,  you  have  wished 
to  reign,  yourselves,  by  sending  your  deputies  to  the  States 
General;  you  now  pay  the  penalty  of  your  audacity.  May  this 
rough  lesson  prove  to  you  once  more  that  princes  are  born  to 
command  and  the  people  to  obey.  And  now,  pay  your  taxes  and 
resume  your  secular  yoke  with  humble  repentance' !" 

"So  help  me  God !  You  could  not  have  been  better  instructed 
upon  the  projects  of  my  brother-in-law  and  his  councilors  if  you 
had  attended  their  secret  meetings !  And  if  they  triumph,  would 
you  despair?" 

"Despair  ? — For  the  present,  Sire ;  but  I  would  remain  full  of 
hope  in  the  future.  The  conquest  of  freedom  is  as  assured  as 
it  is  slow,  laborious  and  painful  ...  I  do  not  even  now 
despair  of  the  present.  I  propose  to  make  a  last  attempt  with 
the  Regent." 

"And  if  you  fail,  will  you  come  to  me  ?" 

"Between  two  evils,  Sire,  one  is  forced  to  choose  the  lesser." 

"In  short,  you  believe  you  will  find  in  me  what  the  Regent 
lacks?" 

"You  have  an  immense  advantage  over  him.  You  wish  to  be- 
come King  of  the  French,  while  the  Regent  is  that  by  birth." 

"Do  you  forget  my  royalty  of  Navarre?" 

"To  speak  truly,  I  did  forget  it,  Sire  .  .  .  just  as  you 
forget  it  for  the  crown  of  France.  As  I  was  saying,  a  King 
by  the  right  of  birth  looks  upon  all  reform  as  an  encroachment 
upon  his  power  .  .  .  You,  on  the  contrary,  look  upon  the 
reforms  as  a  means  whereby  to  usurp  power.  Now,  then,  how- 
ever perfidious,  however  wicked  you,  Charles  the  Wicked,  may 
be,  I  dare  you  to  fail  to  announce  your  access  to  the  throne — 
and  that  in  your  own  interest — by  great  and  useful  measures 
to  the  public  welfare.  That  much  would  be  gained  .  .  . 
later,  we  shall  see  ...  " 

"And  throw  me  down  ?" 

"I  shall  work  to  that  end,  Sire,  with  all  my  powers,  the 
moment  you  turn  from  the  straight  path.  You  are  forewarned," 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  115 

"And,  Master  Marcel,  you  would  destroy  your  own  work 
without  scruple?" 

"Without  scruple!  Moreover,  better  so  than  as  it  happened 
with  the  first  and  second  dynasties  when  the  stewards  of  the 
royal  palace  or  the  large  feudal  seigneurs  dethroned  the  kings 
and  changed  dynasties." 

"And  who  would  then  accomplish  the  rough  task?  I  would 
like  to  know  the  artisan." 

"The  people,  Sire!  .  .  .  That  people,  still  in  its  infancy 
and  credulous,  must  learn  that  at  its  breath  it  can  waft  away 
the  sovereign  masters  who  impose  themselves  upon  it  by  force 
and  cunning,  and  whom  the  church  consecrated.  Some  day, 
this  very  century  perhaps,  that  people  will  come  of  age;  it  will 
realize  the  ruinous  and  superfluousness  of  the  royal  power. 
But  that  day  is  not  yet.  In  our  days,  the  people,  ignorant 
and  enslaved  to  habit,  would  wish  to  crown  a  new  master  the 
moment  they  overthrow  an  old  one.  They  rely  on  princes. 
You,  Sire,  are  one  of  these  predestined  beings.  You  can  even 
pretend  to  reign  over  Gaul  by  virtue  of  one  of  your  ancestors, 
who  was  himself  "deprived  of  the  crown  for  the  benefit  of  his 
cousin  Philip  of  Valois,  the  father  of  King  John.  It  is,  ac4 
cordingly,  not  impossible  that  you  may  some  day  reign  over 
France  ...  a  deplorable  possibility  .  .  .  yet  tangible  • 
enough !" 

"You  must  have  courage  to  speak  that  wise  to  me." 

"Instead  of  telling  you  the  truth,  I  would  otherwise  be  basely 
flattering  you,  whose  first  thought,  if  to-morrow  you  are  King, 
would  be  to  rid  yourself  of  me.  I  indulge  in  no  illusions  on 
that  head." 

"Rid  myself  of  you,  who  would  have  served  me !" 

"For  that  very  reason!  My  presence  would  be  a  constant 
reminder  of  your  debt.  But  thait  matters  not.  Whether  I 
die  to-day  or  to-morrow,  whether  you  be  king  or  not,  whether 
or  not  my  last  effort  with  the  Regent  fail,  whether  the  court 
party  triumph  or  is  now  vanquished — whatever  may  happen, 


u6  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

the  future  belongs  to  the  popular  party  even  if  the  present 
may  slip.  Yes;  whatever  people  may  do,  the  ordinance  of 
the  reforms  of  1356  and  the  sovereign  act  of  the  national  as- 
sembly in  this  generation  will  leave  imperishable  traces  be- 
hind them.  I  have  sowed  too  hastily,  some  say,  and  they  add, 
*a  slow  crop  follows  a  hasty  planting.'  Be  it  so!  But  I  have 
sowed.  The  seed  is  in  the  earth.  Sooner  or  later  the  future 
will  gather  the  crop.  My  task  is  done.  I  can  die.  And  now, 
Sire,  I  sum  up :  If  I  fail  in  my  last  attempt  with  the  Kegent, 
I  shall  take  recourse  with  you.  You  will  be  first  appointed 
captain-general  of  Paris  ...  it  will  be  your  first  step 
towards  the  throne  .  .  .  We  shall  then  take  measures  to 
lead  things  to  a  happy  issue,  according  to  our  device." 

"My  first  words  on  coming  in  were :  'Marcel,  I  wish  to  be  King 
of  the  French/  I  had  my  project.  I  renounce  it  to  join 
yours,"  said  Charles  the  Wicked  resuming  his  cloak.  "You 
are  one  of  those  inflexible  men  who  can  not  be  convinced  any 
more  than  they  can  be  corrupted.  I  shall  not  seek  to  change 
your  views  concerning  me,  nor  yet  to  purchase  your  alliance. 
However  dangerous  it  may  be  to  me,  I  accept  it  as  you  offer 
it.  I  return  to  St.  Denis  to  await  the  event.  In  case  my 
presence  shall  be  necessary  in  Paris,  write  to  me  and  I  shall 
come.  I  only  demand  of  you  absolute  secrecy  on  this  inter- 
view." 

"Our  common  interests  demand  secrecy." 

"Adieu,  Marcel !     May  God  prosper  you." 

"Adieu,  Sire !" 

Enveloping  himself  anew  up  to  his  eyes,  the  King  of  Navarre 
left  the  provost.  The  latter  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  and 
after  the  departure  of  Charles  the  Wicked  said  to  himself: 
"Fatal  necessity !  To  have  to  aid  in  the  elevation  of  this  man ! 
And  yet  it  may  be  necessary!  The  change  of  dynasty  may 
help  me  to  save  Gaul,  should  the  Kegent  wreck  to-morrow 
my  last  hope  .  .  .  Yes,  Charles  the  Wicked,  with  the  view 
of  usurping  and  keeping  the  crown,  will  be  compelled  to  enter 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  117 

the  wide  path  of  the  reforms  that  alone  can  lighten  the  weight 
now  crushing  the  townsmen  and  above  all  the  peasantry.  Oh, 
poor  rustic  plebs,  so  patient  in  your  secular  martyrdom!  Oh, 
poor  Jaques  Bonhomme,  as  the  nobility  in  its  insolent  haughti- 
ness loves  to  call  you,  your  day  of  deliverance  is  approaching! 
For  the  first  time  united  in  a  common  cause  with  the  bour- 
geoisie, the  people  of  the  towns,  when  you  will  stand  erect, 
Jaques  Bonhomme,  in  arms  as  your  brothers  of  the  towns, 
we  shall  see  whether  this  Charles  the  Wicked3  however  exe- 
crable a  man  he  may  be,  will  dare  to  deviate  from  the  path 
that  he  is  ordered  to  march  I" 

A  bell  rang  and  recalled  Marcel  from  his  reverie.  "I  shall 
have  barely  time  to  reach  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers,  in 
order  to  prepare  our  friends  for  to-morrow's  measures  .  .  . 
terrible  measures!  .  .  .  yet  as  legitimate  as  the  law  of 
retaliation  .  .  .  supreme  and  unavoidable  law  in  such 
gloomy  days  as  these,  when  violence  can  be  opposed  and  overcome 
with  violence  only!  Oh!  Let  the  blood  fall  upon  the  heads 
of  those  who,  having  driven  the  people  to  extremities,  have  by 
their  conduct  provoked  these  impious  struggles !" 

Saying  this,  Marcel  descended  the  stairs  to  take  his  leave 
from  his  wife,  his  niece  and  Jocelyn  the  Champion,  who,  at 
the  invitation  of  the  provost  was  then  taking  supper  with  his 
family,  and,  gathered  around  the  table,  presented  a  charming 
picture  of  peace  and  good  will, 


CHAPTER  VI. 
AT  THE  CORDELIERS. 

After  taking  some  rest  at  Rufin's  lodging,  William  Caillet 
accompanied  his  host  to  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers,  where  a 
large  crowd  was  gathering,  greedy  to  hear  Marcel's  address.  The 
Cordeliers,  a  poor  monastic  order  that  aroused  the  profound 
enviousness  of  the  high  and  splendidly  endowed  clergy,  had 
ranked  themselves  on  the  side  of  the  people  against  the  court. 
The  large  hall  of  their  convent  was  the  habitual  place  for  the 
holding  of  large  popular  mass  meetings.  Acquainted  with  the 
brother  who  attended  the  gate,  Ruf in  received  from  him  permis- 
sion to  speak  with  Marcel  in  the  refectory  which  he  would  have 
to  cross  on  the  way  to  the  hall  where  he  was  to  address  the  people. 
The  spacious  hall,  walled  and  vaulted  with  stone,  and  lighted  only 
by  the  lamps  that  burned  on  a  sort  of  tribune  situated  at  one  of 
its  extremities,  was  packed  with  a  dense  and  impatient  crowd,  on 
the  front  ranks  alone  of  which  fell  the  light  of  the  lamps;  the 
deeper  ranks,  and  in  the  measure  that  they  stood  further  and 
further  away  from  the  lighted  platform,  remained  in  a  semi- 
obscurity,,  that  deepened  into  complete  darkness  at  the  other  end 
of  the  hall.  The  audience  consisted  of  bourgeois  and  artisans, 
a  large  number  of  whom  wore  head  covers  of  red  and  blue,  the 
colors  adopted  by  the  popular  party,  and  brooches  with  the  device 
"To  a  happy  issue." 

The  two  funerals  that  had  taken  place  during  the  day,  and 
both  the  contrast  and  significance  of  which  were  so  obvious,  form- 
ed the  subject  of  conversation  with  the  seething  mass.  The 
least  clearsighted  among  them  foresaw  a  decisive  crisis  and  an 
inevitable  conflict  between  the  court  and  the  people,  represented 
respectively  by  the  Regent  and  Marcel.  Accordingly,  the  ar- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  119 

rival  of  the  latter  was  awaited  with  as  much  impatience  as 
anxiety.  A  few  minutes  later  Marcel  entered  by  a  door  near  the 
platform,  accompanied  by  several  councilmen,  John  Maillart 
among  them.  Jocelyn  the  Champion,  Eufin  the  Tankard-smash- 
er and  William  Caillet  brought  up  the  rear.  The  last  of  these 
had  just  enjoyed  a  long  conversation  with  Marcel  and  Jocelyn. 
Enthusiastic  cheers  greeted  Marcel  and  the  councilmen.  The 
former  mounted  the  platform  followed  by  all  the  councilmen, 
except  Maillart  who  remained  below,  and  took  seats  behind  the 
speaker.  In  the  midst  of  profound  silence,  Marcel  said : 

"My  friends,  the  hour  is  critical.  Let  us  indulge  neither  in 
faint-heartedness  nor  in  illusions.  The  regent  and  the  court 
have  dropped  the  mask.  This  morning,  to  our  solemn  protest 
against  the  iniquitous  and  sanguinary  act  that  in  defiance  of  law 
smote  Perrin  Mace,  the  court  answered  by  following  the  hearse 
of  John  Baillet.  This  is  a  challenge  .  .  .  Let  us  take  up  the 
gauge !  Let  us  make  ready  for  battle." 

"Aye !  Aye !"  came  the  thundering  response  from  the  audience. 
"The  Eegent  and  his  courtiers  shall  not  make  us  retreat." 

"For  a  moment  frightened  by  the  firmness  of  the  national  as- 
sembly", Marcel  proceeded,  "the  Eegent  granted  the  reforms  and 
swore  to  carry  them  out.  The  deputies  of  the  towns  of  Gaul, 
gathered  at  Paris  in  the  States  General,  were,  with  the  loyal 
aid  of  the  Eegent,  to  rule  the  whole  country  wisely  and  paternal- 
ly, as  the  magistrates  of  the  communes  rule  the  towns.  Thus 
there  would  no  longer  be  any  royal  and  feudal  tyranny ;  no  more 
ruinous  prodigalities;  no  more  false  money;  no  more  venal 
justice ;  no  more  excessive  taxes ;  no  more  arbitrary  imposts ;  no 
more  pillaging  in  the  name  of  the  King  and  princes;  no  more 
odious  privileges  for  church  and  nobility;  in  short,  there  would 
be  an  end  of  the  infamous  and  horrible  seigniorial  rights  that 
cause  the  heart  to  rise,  and  reason  to  revolt.  That  is  what  wo 
wanted;  and  that  is  just  what  the  Eegent  and  the  court  resist 
energetically." 

"Blood  and  death !"  cried  Maillart  in  a  loud  voice,  rising  from 


120  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

his  scat  with  violent  gesticulation.  "They  will  have  to  submit: 
if  not  we  shall  massacre  every  one  of  them  from  the  Regent  down 
to  the  last  courtier !  Death  to  the  traitors !  To  arms !  Let's  set 
fire  to  the  palace  and  the  castles." 

A  large  number  applauded  the  excited  words  of  Maillart ;  and 
the  man  of  the  furred  cap,  who  insinuated  himself  into  this 
meeting  as  he  had  done  in  the  morning  among  the  crowds  that 
witnessed  the  funeral  procession  of  Perrin  Mace,  moved  about 
saying :  "Hein,  my  friends,  what  an  intrepid  man  is  this  Master 
Maillart !  He  speaks  only  of  blood  and  massacre !  Master  Mar- 
cel, on  the  contrary,  seems  always  afraid  to  compromise  him- 
self. It  does  not  surprise  me ;  it  is  said  he  has  secretly  embraced 
the  side  of  the  court." 

"Marcel  .  .  .  betray  the  people  of  Paris !"  answered  sev- 
eral men.  "You  are  raving,  good  man!  Go  on  your  way!" 

"All  the  same,"  insisted  the  man  of  the  furred  cap,  "Marcel 
keeps  quiet  and  does  not  respond  to  the  appeal  to  arms  so  bravely 
made  by  Master  Maillart." 

"How  do  you  expect  Marcel  to  speak  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
noise  ?  But,  silence !  Quiet  is  being  restored.  Marcel  is  about 
to  resume.  Let's  listen !" 

"No  criminal  weakness,"  proceeded  Marcel;  "but  neither  let 
there  be  any  blind  revenge.  Soon  perhaps  the  cry  To  arms!' 
will  resound  from  one  confine  of  Gaul  to  the  other,  both  in  towns 
and  country !" 

"Eh !  What  do  we  care  about  the  country  ?"  cried  Maillart. 
"Let's  mind  our  own  business.  Let's  roll  up  our  sleeves  and 
strike  without  mercy!" 

"My  friend,  your  courage  carries  you  away,"  Marcel  answered 
Maillart  in  an  accent  of  cordial  reproach.  "Shall  the  boon  of 
freedom  be  the  privilege  of  some  only?  Are  we,  the  bourgeois 
and  artisans  of  the  towns,  the  whole  people.  Are  there  not 
millions  of  serfs,  vassals  and  villeins  given  up  to  the  mercy  of 
feudal  power?  Who  cares  for  these  unfortunate  people?  No- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  121 

body!  Who  represents  their  intersets  in  the  States  General? 
Nobody !"  And  turning  to  William  Caillet,  who,  standing  aside 
and  under  the  shadow  was  attentively  listening  to  the  provost, 
he  pointed  to  the  poor  peasant  and  added :  "No,  I  was  mis- 
taken. On  this  day  the  serfs  are  here  represented.  Contemplate 
this  old  man  and  listen  to  me !" 

All  eyes  turned  to  Caillet,  who  in  his  rustic  timidity  lowered 
his  head.  Marcel  continued: 

"Listen  to  me,  and  your  hearts,  like  mine,  will  boil  with  in- 
dignation. With  me  you  will  cry :  'Justice  and  vengeance ! 
War  upon  the  castles,  peace  to  the  cottages  !'  The  history  of  this 
vassal  is  that  of  all  of  our  brothers  of  the  country.  This  man 
had  a  daughter,  the  only  solace  to  his  sorrows.  The  name 
of  that  child,  who  was  as  beautiful  as  wise,  will  indicate  her 
candor  to  you.  It  is  Aveline-who-never-lied.  She  was  af- 
fianced to  a  miller  lad,  a  vassal  like  herself.  By  reason  of  the 
goodness  of  his  disposition  he  was  called  Mazurec  the  Lambkin. 
The  day  of  their  marriage  is  set  ...  But  in  these  days  the 
wife's  first  night  belongs  to  her  seigneur  .  .  .  The  nobles 
call  it  the  right  of  first  fruits." 

"Shame!"  cried  the  audience  in  furious  indignation.  "Ex- 
ecrable shame !" 

"And  this  execrable  shame  are  we  not  the  accomplices  of  by 
allowing  our  brothers  to  remain  subject  to  it?"  cried  Marcal 
in  a  voice  that  dominated  the  thrill  of  anger  which  ran  through 
the  audience.  Silence  being  again  restored,  Marcel  proceeded: 
"If  the  bride  is  homely,  or  if  it  so  happen  that  the  seigneur 
is  unable  to  violate  her,  he  puts  on  the  mien  of  a  good  prince ; 
he  receives  money  from  the  bridegroom,  and  the  latter  escapes  the 
ignominy.  William  Caillet,  that  is  the  name  of  the  bride's 
father,  that  man  yonder,  wished  to  ransom  his  daughter  from 
such  shame;  in  the  absence  of  the  seigneur,  the  bailiff  con- 
sented to  a  money  indemnity.  Caillet  sells  his  only  property, 
a  milch-cow,  and  gives  the  money  to  Mazurec,  who, with  bounding 


122  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

joy,  proceeds  to  the  cnstle  to  redeem  the  honor  of  his  wife.  A 
knight  happens  to  cross  his  path  and  robs  the  vassal.  The 
latter  reaches  the  manor  in  tears  and  recognizes  the  robber 
among  the  guests  of  his  seigneur,  who  had  just  arrived.  The 
vassal  prays  for  mercy  for  his  wife,  and  for  justice  against 
the  robber.  '0,  your  bride,  I  am  told  is  beautiful  and  you  charge 
one  of  my  noble  guests  with  theft,'  said  the  seigneur  to  him, 
'I  shall  take  your  bride  into  my  bed,  and  you  shall  be  punished 
with  death  for  defaming  a  knight/  That's  not  all!"  cried 
Marcel  suppressing  with  a  gesture  a  fresh  explosion  from  the 
audience  whose  indignation  was  rising  to  highest  pitch.  "Driven 
to  despair,  the  vassal  assaults  his  seigneur;  he  is  thrown  into 
prison;  the  bride  is  dragged  to  the  castle;  she  resists  her  seigneur 
.  .  .  he  has  the  right  to  have  her  pinioned.  Does  he  do  so  ? 
Xo !  He  meant  to  give  Jacques  Bonhomme  a  striking  lesson. 
He  meant  to  show  that  he  could  take  the  vassal's  wife  not 
only  by  the  right  of  the  strongest  but  also  in  the  name  of 
the  law,  of  justice  and  even  of  that  which  is  most  sacred  in 
the  world,  of  God  himself!  The  seigneur  indulges  this  savage 
pleasure.  He  files  a  complaint  with  the  seneschal  of  Beauvoisis 
'against  the  resistance  of  the  vassal !'  The  judges  meet,  and  a 
decision  is  rendered  in  the  name  of  right,  justice  and  law  in 
these  terms:  'Whereas,  the  seigneur  has  the  right  of  first 
fruits  over  the  bride  of  his  vassal,  he  shall  exercise  his  right  over 
her;  whereas,  the  bridegroom  has  dared  to  revolt  against  the 
legitimate  exercise  of  that  right,  he  shall  make  the  amende 
honorable  to  his  seigneur  with  arms  crossed  and  upon  his  knees ! 
Furthermore,  whereas  the  said  vassal  has  charged  a  knight  with 
robbery,  and  the  latter  has  demanded  to  prove  his  innocence 
by  arms,  we  decree  a  judicial  combat.  According  to  law,  the 
knight  shall  combat  in  full  armor  and  on  horseback,  the  serf  on 
foot  and  armed  with  a  stick;  and  if  the  vassal  is  vanquished 
and  survives,  he  shall  be  drowned  as  the  defamer  of  a  knight/  " 
At  these  last  words  of  Marcel's  an  explosion  of  fury  broke 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  123 

forth  from  the  audience.  Caillet  hid  his  pale  and  somber  face 
in  his  hands.  Marcel  restored  quiet  and  proceeded : 

"Justice  has  spoken;  the  decree  is  enforced.  The  bride  is 
bound  and  carried  to  the  bed  of  the  seigneur;  he  dishonors  her 
and  then  returns  her  to  her  husband.  The  latter  makes  the 
amende  honorable  on  his  knees  before  his  seigneur;  he  is  there- 
upon taken  to  the  arena  to  fight  half  naked  the  iron-cased  knight. 
.  .  .  You  may  guess  the  issue  of  the  duel  .  .  .  The 
vassal  being  vanquished,  he  is  put  into  a  bag  and  thrown  into  the 
river  .  .  .  Such  is  feudal  justice!" 

"And  to-day,"  now  cried  out  William  Caillet  stepping  forward, 
a  frightful  picture  of  hate  and  rage,  "my  daughter  carries  in  her 
bosom  the  child  of  her  seigneur!  What  shall  be  done  to  that 
child,  townsmen  of  Paris,  if  born  alive?  You  have  wives  and 
daughters  and  sisters!  Answer,  what  would  you  do?  Is  that 
child  of  shame  to  be  loved?  Is  it  to  be  hated  as  the  child  of 
Aveline's  executioner?  Should  I  at  the  whelp's  birth  break  in 
his  head  lest  he  grow  into  a  wolf  ?  What  to  do  ?" 

An  oppressive  silence  followed  upon  the  words  of  William 
Caillet.  None  dared  answer.  Marcel  continued : 

"This,  then,  is  what  is  going  on  at  the  very  gates  of  our 
town.  The  country  people  are  pitilessly  left  to  the  mercy  of  the 
seigneurs !  The  women  are  violated,  and  the  men  put  to  death ! 
We  have  been  the  accomplices  of  the  executioners  of  so  many 
victims ;  we  have  been  so  by  our  criminal  indifference,  and  to-day 
we  pay  the  penalty  of  our  selfishness.  We,  the  townspeople,  be- 
lieved we  would  be  strong  enough  to  overcome  the  seigneurs  and 
the  crown;  we  imagined  we  could  compel  them  to  reform  the 
execrable  abuses  that  oppress  us.  To-day  we  should  admit  that 
we  have  thought  too  highly  of  our  own  power.  The  Eegent 
and  his  partisans  violate  their  own  sworn  oaths,  and  shatter 
our  hopes.  Vainly  have  I,  in  the  name  of  the  States  General, 
again  and  again  requested  an  audience  from  the  Regent  to 
remind  him  of  his  sacred  promises.  The  gates  of  Louvre  re- 
mained shut  in  my  face.  The  audacity  of  our  enemies  proceeds 


124  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

from  the  circumstance  that  our  power  ends  outside  of  the 
gates  of  our  towns.  Let  us  join  hands  with  the  serfs  of  the 
country ;  let  us  cease  separating  our  cause  from  theirs,  and  mat- 
ters will  take  on  a  different  aspect.  We  never  shall  obtain 
lasting  and  fruitful  reforms  without  a  close  alliance  with  the 
country  folks.  If  to-morrow  at  a  given  signal  the  serfs  should 
rise  in  arms  against  their  seigneurs,  and  the  towns  against  the 
officers,  then  no  human  power  would  be  able  to  overcome  such 
a  mass-uprising.  The  Regent,  the  seigneurs  and  their  troops 
would  be  swept  aside  and  annihilated  by  the  storm.  Then 
would  the  peoples  of  Gaul,  resuming  possession  of  their  country's 
soil  and  re-entering  upon  their  freedom,  see  before  them  a 
future  of  peace,  of  grandeur  and  of  prosperity  without  end 
.  .  .  Do  you  desire  to  realize  that  future  by  joining  hands 
with  our  brothers  the  peasants  ?" 

"Aye!     Aye!    We  will!"  cried  the  councilmen. 

"Aye!  Aye!  We  will!"  re-echoed  from  thousands  of  voices 
with  boundless  enthusiasm.  "Let's  join  our  brothers  of  the 
country.  Let  our  device  be  theirs  also — 'To  a  happy  issue,'  for 
townsmen  and  peasants !" 

"Come,  poor  martyr!"  cried  Marcel  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
and  embracing  Caillet,  who  was  not  less  moved  than  the  provost. 
"I  take  heaven  and  the  cries  that  escape  from  so  many  generous 
hearts,  moved  by  the  recital  of  the  sufferings  of  your  family, 
as  witnesses  to  the  indissoluble  alliance  concluded  this  day  be- 
tween all  the  children  of  our  mother  country!  Let  us  stand 
united  against  our  common  enemy!  Artisans,  bourgeois  and 
peasants — each  for  all,  and  all  for  each,  and  to  a  happy  issue  the 
good  cause !  War  upon  the  castles !" 

Sublime  was  the  sensation,  holy  the  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd 
at  the  sight  of  the  provost,  dressed  in  his  magisterial  robe, 
closing  in  his  arms  the  horny-handed  serf  dressed  in  rags. 

Profoundly  moved  and  even  surprised  by  what  he  saw  and 
heard,  Caillet,  despite  his  rugged  nature,  almost  fainted.  Tears 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  125 

streamed  down  his  face.     He  leaned  against  the  wall  to  avoid 
dropping  to  the  floor,  while  Marcel  cried  out : 

"Let  all  who  desire  to  lead  the  good  cause  to  a  happy  issue 
meet  to-morrow  morning  arms  in  hand  upon  the  square  of  St. 
Eloi  church." 

"Count  upon  us,  Marcel/'  came  from  the  crowd;  "we  shall 
all  be  there !  We  shall  follow  you  with  closed  eyes !  Long 
live  Marcel !  Long  live  the  peasants !  To  a  happy  issue !  To 
a  happy  issue !  War  on  the  castles,  peace  to  the  huts !"  Amid 
these  exclamations  the  crowd  tumultuously  evacuated  the  hall  of 
the  Cordeliers. 

"Do  you  see,  friends,  how  far  this  Marcel  goes  in  his  defiance 
of  the  people  of  Paris?"  remarked  the  man  of  the  furred  cap 
to  several  townsmen  near  him  as  they  were  leaving  the  hall. 
"Did  you  hear  him  ?" 

"What  did  he  say  that  was  so  bad  ?  Come,  now,  my  good  man, 
you  are  losing  your  wits!" 

'"What  did  he  say?  Why,  he  calls  for  help  to  the  vagabonds 
and  strollers  in  the  country !  Are  we  not  brave  enough  to  do  our 
own  work  without  the  support  of  Jacques  Bonhomme  ?  Verily, 
never  before  did  Master  Marcel  show  so  completely  the  con- 
tempt he  entertains  for  us!  John  Maillart  is  quite  another 
friend  of  the  people !  Long  live  John  Maillart !" 


CHAPTEE  VII. 
POPULAK  JUSTICE. 

It  is  some  time  since  sunrise.  The  Regent,  who  has  recently 
and  for  good  cause  moved  to  the  tower  of  the  Louvre,  has  just 
risen  from  his  bed,  which  is  located  in  the  rear  of  a  vast 
chamber,  roofed  with  glided  rafters  and  magnificently  fur- 
nished. Rich  carpets  hang  from  the  walls.  A  few  favorites 
are  accorded  the  august  honor  of  assisting  the  treacherous  and 
wily  youth,  who  is  reigning  over  Gaul,  in  his  morning  toilet. 
One  of  the  courtiers,  the  seigneur  of  Norville,  jealous  of  his 
servitude  to  the  prince,  is  kneeling  at  his  feet  in  the  act  of 
adjusting  his  long  tapering  shoes,  while,  seated  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed,  his  head  down,  careworn,  pensive  and  twirling  his  thumbs 
as  was  his  habit,  the  Regent  mechanically  allows  himself  to  be 
shod.  Hugh,  the  Sire  of  Conflans  and  marshal  of  Normandy, 
he  who  presided  at  the  mutilation  and  execution  of  Perrin  Mace, 
is  conversing  in  a  low  voice  with  Robert,  marshal  of  Cham- 
pagne, another  councilor  of  the  Regent,,  in  the  embrasure  of  a 
window  at  the  other  end  of  the  chamber.  After  a  long  time 
watching  his  thumbs  twirl,  the  Regent  raised  his  head,  called  the 
marshal  of  Normandy  in  his  shrill  voice  and  asked:  "Hugh, 
at  what  hour  is  the  barrier  of  the  Seine  closed,  below  the 
postern  that  opens  on  the  river  bank?" 

"Sire,  the  barrier  is  closed  at  nightfall";  and  the  marshal 
added  sardonically.     "Such  are  the  orders  of  Marcel." 
"After  nightfall,  no  vessel  can  leave  Paris?" 

"No,  Sire.  After  nightfall  no  one  can  leave  Paris  either  by 
land  or  water.  Such,  again,  are  the  orders  of  Marcel." 

"In  that  case,"  the  Regent  replied  without  looking  up  and 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  127 

after  a  moment's  reflection,  "you  will  procure  a  vessel  this 
morning,  have  it  moored  outside  of  the  barrier  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  postern  gate  at  the  foot  of  the  little  staircase.  You 
and  Robert/'  proceeded  the  Regent  pointing  to  the  marshal  of 
Champagne,  "will  hold  yourselves  ready  to  accompany  me. 
Prudence  and  discretion." 

For  a  moment  the  two  favorites  remained  mute  with  astonish- 
ment. The  marshal  of  Normandy  broke  the  silence  with  the 
question:  "Do  you  contemplate  leaving  Paris  by  night  and 
furtively,  Sire?  Would  you  not  be  leaving  the  field  to  that 
miserable  Marcel?  Why,  by  the  saints!  If  that  insolent  bour- 
geois annoys  you,  Sire,  follow  the  advice  I  have  so  often  given 
you!  Have  Marcel  and  his  councilmen  hanged  as  I  hanged 
Perrin  Mace !  Did  his  execution  cause  Paris  to  riot  ?  No ;  not 
one  of  the  good-for-nothings  has  dared  to  kick ;  they  contented 
themselves  with  attending  in  mass  the  funeral  of  the  hanged 
fellow.  Charge  me  with  relieving  you  of  Marcel  along  with  his 
gang.  It  is  done  quickly." 

"Among  other  scamps  that  should  be  hanged  high  and  short," 
added  the  marshal  of  Champagne,  "is  one  Maillart,  who  is 
profuse  in  violent  denunciations  of  the  court!" 

"Haillart!  Allow  hot  a  hair  on  Maillart's  head  to  be 
touched !"  said  the  Regent  with  lively  interest,  while  bestowing 
a  sinister  and  false  leer  upon  the  courtiers. 

"It  will  be  as  you  say,  Sire,"  answered  the  marshal  of  Nor- 
mandy, not  a  little  astonished  at  the  prince's  words.  "We  shall 
spare  Maillart.  But  by  God!  Order  that  the  other  insolent 
creatures  be  put  to  death,  Marcel  first  of  all !  Your  orders  shall 
be  executed." 

"Hugh,"  answered  the  prince,  rising  on  his  feet  to  put  on  his 
robe  that  the  seigneur  of  Norville  was  pressing  upon  his  master 
after  having  shod  him,  "let  the  vessel  be  ready  this  evening  as  I 
ordered.  Be  punctual.  Prudence  and  discretion." 

"You  do  not  then  listen  to  my  advice !"  cried  the  marshal  al- 


128  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

most  angrily.  "Your  clemency  for  those  vile  bourgeois  will 
yet  be  the  undoing  of  you !  Your  goodness  misleads  you !" 

"My  clemency!  My  goodness!"  repeated  the  prince,  casting 
a  sinister  look  upon  the  marshal. 

Understanding  now  the  secret  thoughts  of  his  master,  the 
courtier  answered:  "If  you  have  decided  to  mete  out  prompt 
justice  to  that  insolent  bourgeoisie,  why  wait  so  long,  Sire  ?" 

"Oh !  Oh  !  Why  I"  said  the  young  man  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
He  then  relapsed  into  silence,  and  presently  repeated :  "Let  the 
vessel  be  ready  this  evening." 

The  Kegent's  favorites  were  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
youth's  stubbornness  and  profound  powers  of  dissimulation  to  en- 
deavor to  obtain  from  him  any  further  light  upon  his  plans. 
Nevertheless,  the  marshal  of  Normandy  was  about  to  return 
to  the  charge,  when  an  officer  of  the  palace  entered  and  said: 
"Sire,  the  seigneur  of  Nointel  and  the  knight  of  Chaumontel 
request  admission  to  take  leave  from  you,  a  favor  that  you  have 
accorded  them." 

At  a  sign  of  the  Regent  the  officer  left  walking  backward, 
and  returned  almost  immediately  accompanied  by  Conrad  of 
Nointel  and  the  knight  of  Chaumontel.  The  trials  of  war  had 
no  wise  affected  the  health  of  the  two  seigneurs.  The  two  had 
been  among  the  first  to  turn  tail  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers.  The 
groom  of  the  beautiful  Gloriande  was  not  leading  back  to  her 
feet  the  ten  chained  English  prisoners  that  she  had  demanded 
as  the  pledge  of  her  future  husband's  valor. 

"Well,  Conrad  of  Nointel,  you  are  leaving  the  court  to  return 
to  your  seigniory?"  said  the  Regent.  "We  hope  to  see  you 
again  in  more  prosperous  days.  We  ever  love  to  number  a 
Neroweg  among  our  faithful  vassals,  seeing  that  it  is  said  your 
family  is  as  old  as  that  of  the  first  Frankish  kings.  Have  you 
not  an  elder  brother?" 

"Yes,  Sire.  The  elder  branch  of  my  family  inhabits  Auvergne, 
where  it  owns  estates  that  it  owes  to  the  sword  of  my  ancestors, 
Clovis'  companions  of  war.  My  father  left  his  castle  of  Plour- 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  129 

nel,  situated  near  Nantes,  to  come  to  Nointel  which  reverted 
to  him  upon  my  mother's  death.  He  preferred  the  neighborhood 
of  Paris  and  of  the  court  to  that  of  savage  Brittany.  I  am  of 
my  father's  opinion,  and  I  do  not  expect  ever  to  return  to  the 
domains  that  I  own  in  that  region  and  which  are  governed  by 
my  bailiffs." 

"I  rely  on  your  promise.  The  illustriousness  of  your  house 
makes  me  anxious  to  keep  it  near  my  court." 

"Sire,  I  shall  return  for  a  double  reason.  First  of  all  to  please 
the  Eegent,  and  also  to  please  my  betrothed,  the  damosel  of 
Chivry,  who  much  desires  to  see  the  court.  But  I  must  hasten 
to  leave  Paris  in  order  to  collect  the  money  for  my  own  and 
my  friend's  ransom.  It  is  a  large  sum  that  we  have  to  pay." 

"Then  you  were  both  taken  by  the  English?" 

"Yes,  Sire,"  answered  the  knight  of  Chaumontel ;  "but  seeing 
that  my  casque  and  sword  are  my  only  property,  Conrad,  as 
a  loyal  brother  in  arms,  has  taken  it  upon  himself  to  pay  for 
me — '"•* 

"Did  the  English  set  you  free  on  parole  ?  They  are  generous 
enemies." 

"Yes,  Sire,"  answered  Conrad.  "I  was  taken  by  the  men  of 
the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  and  he  placed  our  ransom  at  six  thou- 
sand florins.  But  I  said  to  him :  'If  you  retain  me  a  prisoner, 
my  bailiff  will  never  be  able  to  raise  from  my  vassals  so  large 
a  sum;  the  vigorous  hand  of  their  own  seigneur  is  required  to 
seize  so  much  money  from  those  villeins;  let  me,  therefore, 
return  to  my  domains,  and  on  my  faith  as  a  Christian  and  a 
knight  I  shall  speedily  bring  to  you  the  six  thousand  florins  for 
our  ransom/  " 

"And  the  Englishman  accepted?" 

"Without  hesitation,  Sire.  Moreover,  learning  that  my 
seigniory  was  in  Beauvoisis,  he  said  to  me :  'You  will  run  in 
that  region  across  a  certain  bastard  named  Captain  Griffith, 
who  for  some  time  has  been  raiding  the  region  of  Beauvoisis  with 
his  band/  " 


130  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"That  is  so !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  courtiers.  "Fortunately, 
however,  the  fortified  castles  of  the  seigneurs  are  protected  from 
the  ravages  of  that  chief  of  adventurers.  He  falls  upon  the  plebs 
of  the  open  fields,  and  his  bands  put  everything  to  fire  and  to  the 
sword.  He  is  a  savage  warrior." 

"Well,"  resumed  the  Regent  with  a  cruel  smile,  "let  the 
bourgeois  who  presume  to  govern  in  our  stead  stop  these  dis- 
asters !"  And  turning  to  the  Sire  of  Nointel :  "But  what  has 
that  adventurer  of  a  captain  to  do  with  your  ransom?" 

"It  is  to  him  I  am  to  deliver  our  ransom,  together  with  a  letter 
that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  gave  me  for  him." 

At  this  moment  the  marshal  of  Normandy,  who  had  inclined 
his  head  toward  the  window,  interrupted  Conrad,  saying :  "What 
noise  is  that  ?  .  ...  I  hear  near  and  approaching  clamors." 

"Clamors !"  cried  the  seigneur  of  Norville,  "who  would  be  so 
impudent  as  to  clamor  in  the  vicinity  of  the  King's  palace? 
Give  the  order,  Sire,  to  punish  the  varlets." 

"It  is  not  clamors  merely,  but  threatening  cries,"  put  in  the 
marshal  of  Champagne  running  to  the  door  which  he  opened,  and 
through  which  a  wild  outburst  of  furious  imprecations  pene- 
trated into  the  royal  chamber.  Almost  at  the  same  time  an 
officer  of  the  palace  ran  in  from  the  gallery.  He  was  pale  and 
frightened,  and  came  screaming:  "Flee,  Sire!  The  people 
of  Paris  are  invading  the  Louvre !  They  have  disarmed  your 
guards !" 

"Stand  by,  my  friends!"  cried  the  Regent,  livid  with  terror 
and  taking  refuge  in  his  bed,  behind  the  curtains  of  which  he 
sought  to  hide  himself.  "Defend  me!  .  .  .  The  felons 
mean  to  kill  me!" 

At  the  first  signal  of  danger,  the  marshals  of  Normandy  and 
Champagne,  the  same  as  a  few  other  courtiers,  resolutely  drew 
their  swords.  Conrad  of  Nointel  and  his  friend  the  knight  of 
Chaumontel,  however,  guided  by  a  valor  that  was  tempered  by 
extreme  prudence,  searched  with  their  eyes  for  some  issue  of 
escape,  while  the  seigneur  of  Norville.  jumping  upon  the  bed, 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  131 

tried  to  hide  himself  behind  the  same  curtain  with  the  Regent, 
Suddenly  another  door,  one  facing  that  of  the  gallery,  flew  open, 
and  a  large  number  of  palace  officers,  prelates  and  seigneurs, 
ran  in  helter-skelter,  screaming:  "The  Louvre  is  invaded  by 
the  people!  Marcel  is  heading  a  band  of  murderers  .  .  . 
Save  the  Regent  I" 

These  cries  had  hardly  been  uttered  when  the  courtiers  saw 
Marcel,  followed  by  a  compact  troop  armed  with  pikes,  axes  and 
cutlasses,  appear  at  the  other  end  of  the  gallery  that  com- 
municated with  the  royal  apartment.  These  men,  bourgeois 
and  artisans  of  Paris,  uttered  not  a  sound.  Only  their  foot- 
falls were  heard  on  the  stone  slabs.  The  silence  of  the  armed 
crowd  seemed  more  ominous  than  its  previous  clamors.  At  their 
head  marched  the  provost,  calm,  grave  and  resolute.  A  few 
steps  behind  him  came  William  Caillet  armed  with  a  pike, 
Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher  with  a  battle  mace,  and  Jocelyn  the 
Champion  with  drawn  sword.  During  the  few  seconds  that  it 
took  Marcel  to  cross  the  gallery,  the  distracted  courtiers  held  a 
sort  of  council  in  broken  words.  None  of  the  confused  and  hasty 
views  prevailed.  The  Regent  remained  hidden  behind  the  cur- 
tains of  his  bed  together  with  the  seigneur  of  Norville. 
Trembling  and  pale  but  kept  from  fleeing  by  a  sense  of  self- 
respect,  the  majority  of  the  courtiers  crowded  back  into  the 
furthest  corner  of  the  apartment,  while  the  less  scrupulous  Con- 
rad of  Nointel  and  his  friend,  having  slid  themselves  near  the 
second  door  that  led  to  another  apartment,  prudently  took  them- 
selves off. 

When  he  presented  himself  at  the  threshold  of  the  royal  cham- 
ber, Marcel  met  there  none  to  defend  it  besides  the  two  marshals 
who  stood  with  drawn  swords.  Be  it,  however,  that  at  that 
supreme  moment  they  felt  imposed  by  the  aspect  of  the  provost, 
or  that  they  realized  the  uselessness  of  a  struggle  that  meant 
inevitable  death  to  themselves,  both  lowered  their  swords. 

"Where  is  the  Regent?"  inquired  Marcel  in  a  loud  and  firm 


ij3  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

voice.     "I  wish  to  speak  with  him.     He  has  nothing  to  fear  from 
the  people." 

The  accent  of  the  provost  was  so  sincere  and  the  loyalty 
of  his  word  was  so  generally  acknowledged,  even  by  his  enemies, 
that  yielding  both  to  a  sentiment  of  royal  dignity  and  to  the 
confidence  inspired  by  Marcel's  words,  the  Regent  came  out 
from  behind  the  curtains,  not  a  little  encouraged  at  the  same 
time  by  the  presence  of  the  court  people  and  the  quiet  demeanor 
of  the  armed  crowd  that  had  invaded  the  Louvre. 

"Here  I  am/'  said  the  Regent  taking  a  few  steps  toward 
Marcel  yet  unable,  despite  his  powers  of  dissimulation,  to  wholly 
conceal  the  rage  that  had  succeeded  his  fright.  "What  do  you 
want  of  me  ?  The  Regent  waits  to  hear  you !" 

Marcel  turned  towards  the  armed  men  who  had  followed 
him  and  ordered  them  with  a  gesture  to  guard  silence  and  not  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  royal  chamber  which  he  now  entered 
alone.  On  the  other  hand,  after  a  short  and  whispered  consulta- 
tion with  his  courtiers,  the  Regent  gradually  regained  com- 
posure and  addressed  the  provost  in  these  words:  "Your 
audacity  is  great !  ...  To  enter  my  palace  in  arms !" 

"Sire!  I  have  long  been  requesting  an  interview  from  you 
By  letters,  and  failed;  I  have  been  compelled  to  force  open  your 
doors  in  order  to  make  you  hear,  in  the  name  of  the  country, 
the  language  of  sincere  severity — " 

"To  the  point,"  broke  in  the  Regent  impatiently.  "What  do 
you  want?  Speak!" 

"Sire!  The  people  demand,  first  of  all  the  loyal  enforce- 
ment of  the  reform  ordinances  which  you  have  signed  and 
promulgated." 

"You  are  called  the  King  of  Paris,"  answered  the  Regent  with 
a  caustic  smile ;  "well,  then,  rule !  .  .  .  Save  the  country !" 

"Sire!  The  voice  of  the  national  assembly  has  been  heard 
in  Paris  and  in  some  other  large  towns.  But  your  partisans  and 
your  officers,  sovereign  in  their  seigniories  or  in  the  domains 
which  they  govern  in  your  name,  have  banded  themselves  to 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  133 

prevent  the  execution  of  the  laws  upon  which  the  safety  of 
Gaul  depends.  Such  a  state  of  things  must  promptly  cease, 
Sire !  .  .  .  Aye,  very  promptly.  The  people  so  wills  it." 

The  Regent  turned  to  the  group  of  prelates  and  seigneurs  at 
the  head  of  whom  stood  the  Marshal  of  Normandy;  a  hurried 
council  was  again  held  by  the  courtiers  who  hastened  around 
their  chief;  and  then  returning  to  the  provost,  the  Regent 
answered  haughtily :  "Is  that  your  only  grievance  ?  Let's  hear 
the  rest!!" 

"We  have  imperative  demands." 

"What  else  do  you  want  ?" 

"An  act  of  justice  and  reparation,  Sire!  Perrin  Mace,  a 
bourgeois  of  Paris,  has  been  mutilated  and  then  put  to  death 
in  defiance  of  right  and  of  law  by  the  order  of  some  of  your 
courtiers.  .  .  The  seigneur  who  ordered  the  execution  of  an 
innocent  man  must  be  sentenced  to  death!  It  is  the  law  of 
retaliation." 

"By  the  cross  of  the  Saviour !"  cried  the  Eegent.  "You  dare 
come  and  demand  of  me  the  condemnation  and  execution  of  the 
marshal  of  Normandy,  my  best  friend !" 

"That  man  is  causing  your  ruin  with  his  detestable  advice. 
He  shall  expiate  his  crime." 

"Impudent  scamp !"  cried  out  the  marshal  of  Normandy  in 
a  fit  of  rage,  threatening  Marcel  with  his  sword.  "You  have  the 
audacity  to  make  charges  against  me !" 

"Not  another  word!"  ordered  the  Regent  interrupting  his 
favorite  and  beckoning  him  to  lower  his  sword.  "It  is  for  me 
to  answer  in  this  place.  I  order  you,  Master  Marcel,  to  leave 
this  place,  and  upon  the  spot!" 

"Sire !"  answered  the  provost  with  patronizing  commisera- 
tion, "you  are  young,  my  hairs  are  grey  .  .  .  Your  age  is 
impetuous,  mine  is  calm  ...  I  therefore  have  the  right  and 
the  duty  to  lecture  to  you.  I  beseech  you  in  the  name  of  the 
country,  in  the  name  of  your  crown,  to  loyally  fulfill  your  prom- 


134  ,.THE  IRON  TREVET. 

ises,  and,  however  painful  it  may  seem  to  you,  to  ^rant  ilie 
reparation  tliat  1  demand  in  the  name  of  justice.  Prove  in  that 
manner  that,  when  the  law  is  audaciously  violated,  you  punish 
the  guilty,  whatever  his  rank  .  .  .  Sire !  It  is  still  time  for 
you  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  equity ! — " 

"And  I  tell  you,  Master  Marcel,"  yelled  the  Eegent  furious- 
ly, "that  it  is  time,  high  time,  to  put  an  end  to  your  insolent  re- 
quests !  Be  gone,  instantly !" 

"Away  with  this  varlet  in  rebellion  against  his  King/'  cried 
the  courtiers,  like  the  Regent  re-assured  and  deceived  by  the 
attitude  of  Marcel's  armed  escort,  that  remained  mute  and  mo- 
tionless, and  turning  to  them  the  marshal  of  Normandy  called 
out:  "As  to  you,  good  people  of  Paris,  who  now  regret  the 
criminal  errand  on  which  this  bedeviled  rebel  has  brought  you 
despite  yourselves,  join  us,  the  true  friends  of  your  King,  in 
punishing  the  treason  of  this  miserable  Marcel  .  .  .  Let  his 
blood  fall  upon  himself !" 

The  provost  smothered  a  sigh  of  regret,  stepped  back  a  few 
paces  so  as  to  place  himself  beyond  the  reach  of  the  marshal's 
sword,  turned  to  his  people  and  said :  "Carry  out  the  orders  that 
brought  you  here." 

These  words  were  hardly  uttered  when  Marcel's  armed  men, 
anxious  to  make  amends  for  the  silence  and  prolonged  restraint 
imposed  upon  them  by  his  orders,  burst  loose  in  an  explosion  of 
cries  of  indignation  and  of  threats  that  struck  the  Regent  and 
his  courtiers  with  stupor  and  consternation.  Rufin  the  Tankard- 
Emasher  bolted  upon  the  marshal  of  Normandy,  seized  him 
by  the  collar  and  cried :  "You  had  Perrin  Mace  mutilated  and 
hanged ;  now  you  shall  be  hanged !  The  gibbet  is  ready !" 

"And  this  for  you,  caitiff,"  responded  the  marshal,  quick  as 
lightning  transfixing  the  student's  left  arm  with  a  thrust  of  his 
sword.  "The  cord  that  is  to  hang  me  is  not  yet  twisted." 

"No,  but  the  iron  that  will  smash  you  to  death  is  forged, 
my  noble  gentleman,"  answered  the  student  dealing  with  his 
mace  a  furious  blow  upon  the  marshal's  head,  "I  have  been 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  135 

Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher ;  now  I  am  Rufin  the  Head-smasher  1" 

The  student  spoke  true.  The  marshal's  skull  was  crushed ;  he 
fell  and  expired  at  the  Regent's  feet  bestaining  with  his  blood 
the  latter's  robe.  During  the  tumult  that  ensued,  the  marshal 
of  Champagne  rushed  at  Marcel  dagger  in  hand.  But  William 
Caillet,  who  had  all  the  while  been  seeking  with  burning  eyes 
for  the  Sire  of  Nointel  from  among  the  brilliant  bevy  of  cour- 
tiers, threw  himself  in  front  of  the  provost  ahead  of  Jocelyn, 
who  had  darted  forward  with  the  same  intention,  and  the  old 
peasant  thrust  his  pike  into  the  bowels  of  the  marshal.  The 
corpse  of  the  courtier  rolled  upon  the  floor.  Popular  vengeance 
was  taken. 

The  other  seigneurs  and  prelates,  who  had  run  to  the  royal 
chamber,  fled  back  distracted  by  the  door  that  had  admitted 
them.  When  the  Regent,  who,  fainting  with  terror,  had  crouched 
back  upon  the  bed  with  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands,  looked  up 
again,  he  found  himself  alone  with  Marcel  and  not  far  from  the 
prostrate  corpses  of  his  two  councilors.  Marcel's  armed  men  had 
slowly  departed  through  the  gallery  together  with  Caillet,  while 
Jocelyn  was  engaged  near  a  window  in  bandaging  with  his  hand- 
kerchief the  wound  of  the  student. 

Finally,  protruding  under  the  drapery  of  the  bed  behind  which 
he  had  held  himself  all  the  while  motionless  as  a  mouse,  the  feet 
were  seen  of  the  seigneur  of  Norville,  who  had  lacked  even  the 
strength  to  flee. 

"Mercy,  Master  Marcel !"  cried  the  Regent,  trembling  with 
fear  and  throwing  himself  at  Marcel's  feet  with  arms  out- 
stretched in  supplication  and  his  face  in  tears.  "Do  not  kill 
me ;  have  pity  upon  me,  my  good  father !  Mercy !" 

"We  have  no  thought  of  killing  you,"  Marcel  answered,  pain- 
fully touched  by  the  suspicion;  and  stooping  down  to  raise  the 
Regent  added:  "May  my  name  be  accursed  if  such  a  crime 
ever  entered  my  mind !  Fear  not,  Sire !  Rise !  The  people  of 
Paris  are  good/' 


136  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Oh,  my  good  father!  I  beg  your  pardon  on  my  knees 
for  having  ignored  your  wise  counsels  and  listened  to  bad  ad- 
visers." Breaking  out  into  sobs,  the  young  prince  added, 
wringing  his  hands  in  despair :  "Oh,  good  God !  Alone  and  so 
young  to  be  far  away  from  my  father,  who  is  held  a  prisoner, 
is  it  any  fault  of  mine  if  I  placed  confidence  in  the  men  around 
me?"  The  Regent's  eyes  fell  upon  the  corpses  of  the  two  mar- 
shals. In  heart-rending  accents  he  proceeded :  "There  they  are, 
the  men  who  misled  me !  They  loved  me !  They  knew  me  since 
my  cradle!  But,  like  myself,  they  were  blind  in  their  error. 
Oh,  good  father!  Reproach  me  not  for  weeping  over  the  fate 
of  these  unfortunate  men.  It  is  my  last  adieu  to  them,"  and  still 
on  his  knees,  the  Regent  crouched  lower,  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
continued  sobbing — with  rage,  not  repentance. 

Although .  long  made  acquainted  by  experience  with  the  Re- 
gent's profound  duplicity — a  degree  of  duplicity  almost  in- 
credible at  so  tender  an  age — Marcel  was  deceived  by  what  seemed 
the  sincerity  of  the  young  man's  distressful  accent.  His  touch- 
ing prayer,  his  tears,  the  sorrow  which  he  did  not  fear  to  express 
at  the  death  of  his  two  councilors — all  combined  to  induce  the 
belief  that,  frightened  by  the  terrible  reprisals  that  had  taken 
place  under  his  own  eyes,  the  Regent  was  sincerely  contrite  at 
his  errors,  and  that,  convinced  at  last  regarding  his  own  in- 
terests, which  commanded  him  to  break  with  the  evil  past,  he 
now  really  desired  to  march  on  the  straight  path.  Marcel  con- 
gratulated himself  on  the  happy  change,  and  said  to  Jocelyn  in 
a  low  voice:  "Order  our  people  away  from  the  gallery.  Let 
them  leave  the  palace  and  assemble  under  the  large  window 
of  the  Louvre.  You  and  Rufin  may  stay  with  me.  I  shall  take 
the  Regent  out  of  this  chamber.  The  sight  of  the  corpses  is  too 
painful  to  him." 

Jocelyn  and  the  student  executed  the  orders  of  Marcel. 
Crouching  on  the  floor  the  Regent  did  not  cease  moaning  and 
sobbing.  The  seigneur  of  Norville  left  his  hiding  place  without 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  137 

being  noticed  by  the  prince,  and  approaching  him  on  tip-toe  whis- 
pered in  his  ear :  "Sire,  the  most  faithful  of  all  your  servitors 
is  happy  of  having  braved  a  thousand  dangers  and  deaths  sooner 
than  to  leave  you  alone  with  these  bandits  and  rebels.  Allow 
me,  my  noble  and  dear  master,  to  help  you  to  rise." 

The  Regent  obeyed  mechanically,  and  noticing  that  Marcel, 
who  was  just  giving  his  instructions  to  Jocelyn  and  Rufin,  could 
neither  see  nor  hear  him,  he  whispered  back  to  Norville :  "Do 
not  leave  me.  Watch  for  a  moment  when  I  can  speak  to  you 
without  being  seen  by  anybody" ;  observing  thereupon  that  Mar- 
cel was  again  approaching,  while  the  champion  and  Rufin  both 
left  the  room,  he  uttered  a  piteous  moan,  turned  to  the  corpses 
of  the  two  marshals  and  muttered  in  a  smothered  voice :  " Adieu, 
oh,  you  who  loved  me  and  whose  sad  errors  I  shared.  May  God 
receive  you  in  his  Paradise  I" 

"Come,  Sire,  come/'  said  Marcel  with  kindness,  leading  the 
Regent  to  the  gallery ;  "come,  lean  upon  me  I" 

The  seigneur  of  Norville  followed  the  prince  from  whom  he 
did  not  take  his  eyes  and  said  to  the  provost  in  an  undertone: 
"Oh,  Master  Marcel!  Be  the  protector,  the  tutor  of  my  poor 
young  master  .  .  .  He  always  had  a  tender  feeling  for 
you !" 

"Now,  Sire,"  Marcel  said  to  the  Regent  after  they  had  gone 
a  little  way,  "I  place  confidence  in  your  promise  ...  I  be- 
lieve in  the  salutary  effect  of  the  terrible  example  you  witnessed. 
Oh,  these  painful  extremes;  but  violence  fatedly  engenders  vio- 
lence! ...  It  now  depends  upon  you,  Sire,  to  prevent 
the  recurrence  of  similar  acts  of  reprisal.  Give  the  example  of 
respect  for  the  law.  All  will  then  look  to  the  law  instead 
of  resorting  to  force,  the  last  recourse  of  men  when  they  have 
vainly  invoked  justice!  The  present  moment  is  decisive.  If 
you  should  still  belie  our  hopes  .  .  .  our  new  hopes ;  if  un- 
fortunately it  should  be  shown  to  us  that  you  are  incapable  or 
unworthy  of  ruling  under  the  watchful  and  severe  vigilance 


I38  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

of  the  States  General,  elected  by  the  nation  herself,  I  tell  you 
sincerely,  Sire,  the  people,  finding  their  patience  exhausted,  and 
impatient  of  further  deceit,  sufferings,  disasters  and  misery, 
might  respect  your  life,  but  they  would  then  choose  another 
King  who  shall  be  more  thoughtful  of  the  public  weal  .  .  . 
You  will  then  cease  to  reign." 

"Oh,  good  father!  Why  threaten  me!  I  am  a  poor  young 
man,  and  am  at  your  mercy.  Have  pity  upon  me  I" 

"Sire !  I  do  not  threaten  you. .  Far  from  me  be  such  cruelty ! 
I  only  place  things  before  you  such  as  they  are.  It  depends  upon 
you  to  help  towards  the  public  safety." 

"Speak,  speak,  good  father  ...  I  shall  obey  you  as  a 
most  respectful  son,  I  swear  to  you  upon  my  salvation  .  .  . 
Moreover,  you  shall  be  my  only  councilor  .  .  .  Speak,  what 
do  you  order  ?" 

"The  people  are  assembled  before  the  Louvre  .  .  .  They 
are  informed  of  the  death  of  the  marshal  of  Normandy  .  .  . 
Show  yourself  at  the  window  .  .  .  Say  a  few  good  words 
to  the-  crowd  .  .  .  Announce  plainly  your  good  resolves 
.  .  .  Declare  that  the  cause  of  the  people  is  above  all  yours 
.  .  .  and  here,  Sire,"  added  Marcel,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
offering  it  to  the  Eegent,  "as  a  token  of  our  alliance,  good  will 
and  harmony,  wear  my  hat  with  the  popular  colors.  The  in- 
habitants of  Paris  will  be  pleased  at  this  first  proof  of  condescen- 
sion and  agreement." 

"Give  it  to  me  .  .  .  Give  it  to  me/'  the  Eegent  said  with 
avidity,  hastening  to  don  Marcel's  hat  of  red  and  blue.  "A  friend 
like  you,  my  good  father  .  .  .  only  such  a  friend  could  give- 
me  such  an  advice  .  .  .  Open  the  window;  I  wish  to  speak 
to  my  well  beloved  people  of  Paris,"  added  the  Eegent  addressing 
the  seigneur  of  Norville,  who  having  held  himself  at  a  distance 
during  the  conversation  of  Marcel  and  the  prince,  now  again 
drew  near  as  ordered.  "Open  the  window  wide,"  said  the  prince. 

"Jocelyn,"  observed  Eufin  in  a  low  voice  to  the  champion  while 
the  Regent,  slowly  moving  towards  the  window  that  the  seigneur 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  139 

of  Norville  hastened  to  open,  seemed  to  be  consulting  Marcel, 
"what  do  you  think  of  the  good  resolutions  of  that  youngster  ?" 

"Like  Master  Marcel,  I  believe  him  sincere.  Not  that  I  trust 
in  the  heart  of  that  royal  stripling,  but  because  it  is  to  his  in- 
terest to  follow  wise  counsel." 

"Hm !  Hm !  To  me  it  looks  as  if  he  is  playing  a  comedy.  A 
prince's  word  is  poor  guarantee." 

"Do  yon  imagine  the  Eegent  is  so  double-faced  or  so  foolish  as 
to  try  to  deceive  Master  Marcel  ?" 

"As  true  as  Homer  is  the  king  of  rhapsodists,  never  was  my 
wench  Margot  about  to  play  me  some  scurvy  trick  without  she 
called  me  her  'musk-rat/  her  ^beautiful  king/  her  'gold  canary,' 
and  other  names  no  less  flattering  than  deceitful." 

"But  what  connection  is  there  between  Margot  and  the  Eegent  ? 
Quit  your  fooling !" 

"Listen  to  me  to  the  end.  I  happen  to  have  an  assignment  with 
her  for  this  evening  near  the  Louvre,  on  the  river  bank,  because 
by  what  she  says,  her  friend  Jeannette  does  not  want  to  see  me 
at  her  house.  Very  well.  I  swear  by  Ovid,  the  poet  beloved  of 
Cupid,  Margot  acted  the  gentle  puss  and  induced  me  to  go  and 
inhale  the  mists  of  the  Seine  simply  because  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  elsewhere  this  evening." 

"Rufin,  let's  talk  seriously !" 

"Seriously,  Jocelyn.  I  fear  that  the  promises  of  the  Regent 
are  like  those  of  Margot !  I  can  assure  you,  much  as  the  sword 
thrust  I  received  smarts  me  devilishly,  I  would  have  preferred 
having  pocketed  one  more  in  return  for  having  settled  the  ac- 
counts of  that  puling  youngster  as  I  did  the  accounts  of  the 
marshal  of  Normandy." 

"Come,  now !  Those  are  excesses  worthy  only  of  John  Maillart 
.  .  .  But,  by  the  way,  did  he  accompany  us  hither  ?" 

"No.  After  he  had,  despite  all  your  and  Marcel's  entreaties, 
driven  a  few  miserable  brutes  to  massacre  Master  Dubreuil  when 
he  crossed  our  march  on  his  mule,  Maillart  disappeared.  I  place 


I4o  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

no  reliance  on  him.  Heaven  and  earth !  That  murder  was  de- 
plorable! The  marshals  of  Normandy  and  Champagne  were 
enough " 

"Listen !"  cried  Jocelyn  interrupting  his  friend,  and  pointing 
to  the  Regent,  who,  having  advanced  to  the  balcony,  was  ad- 
dressing the  people  gathered  on  the  street. 

"Beloved  inhabitants  of  my  good  city  of  Paris,"  the  Regent  was 
saying  in  a  moved  and  tearful  voice,  "I  appear  before  you  firmly 
resolved  to  make  amends  for  my  wrongful  conduct.  I  swear  by 
these  colors  that  are  your  own,  and  that  henceforth  will  be  mine," 
he  added,  carrying  his  hand  to  the  red  and  blue  hat  he  wore  on 
his  head.  "The  marshal  of  Normandy,  one  of  my  councilors,  un- 
justly ordered  the  execution  of  Perrin  Mace,  an  honest  bourgeois 
of  Paris.  The  marshal  has  just  been  put  to  death.  May  that 
reparation  satisfy  you,  dear  and  good  Parisians !  Let  us  forget 
our  dissensions ;  let  us  join  in  a  common  accord  for  the  country's 
good  .  .  .  Let  us  love  one  another!  Let  us  help  one  an- 
other !  I  admit  my  errors !  Will  you  pardon  them  ?  Oh,  I  am 
so  young!  Evil  councilors  led  me  astray.  But  I  shall  hence- 
forth have  only  one  .  .  .  That  councilor  .  .  .  here  he 
is !"  and  the  Regent,  turning  towards  Marcel,  added :  "Good  in- 
habitants of  Paris,  receive  this  embrace  which  .1  now  give  you 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  in  the  person  of  the  great  citizen 
whom  we  all  cherish,  whom  we  all  venerate."  While  pronouncing 
these  last  words,  the  young  prince  threw  himself  weeping  into 
the  arms  of  the  provost  and  pressed  him  to  his  breast, — the  em- 
brace of  rulers,  a  mortal  caress ! 

At  the  touching  spectacle,  the  enthusiastic  clamors  of  the 
mobile  and  credulous  mass  resounded  loud,  and  prolonged  cries 
of  "Long  live  Marcel !"  "Long  live  the  Regent !"  "To  a  happy 
issue!"  greeted  the  reconciliation  as  a  happy  augury  of  the 
future. 

Profoundly  moved  himself.  Marcel  said  to  the  Regent  upon  re- 
turning with  him  into  the  gallery:  "Sire,  full  of  hope  and  of 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  141 

confidence,  the  people  acclaimed  with  their  joyous  cries  an  era 
of  peace,  of  justice,  of  grandeur  and  of  prosperity.  Do  not  shat- 
ter so  many  hopes.  Good  is  so  easy  for  you  to  achieve !  It  is  so 
beautiful  to  bequeath  to  posterity  a  glorious  name,  blessed  by 
all." 

"My  good  father!"  answered  the  Eegent,  panting  for  breath, 
"my  eyes  have  been  opened  to  the  light;  my  heart  expands 
.  .  .  I  am  reborn  for  a  new  life  .  .  .  You  shall  not  leave 
me  to-day ;  only  to-night  if  you  must  .  .  .  Let's  go  to  work 
.  .  .  Let  us  jointly  take  prompt,  energetic  measures  .  .  . 
Oh!  Your  wishes  shall  be  realized.  .  .  I  shall  bequeath 
to  posterity  a  name  blessed  by  all  ...  Come,  my  good 
father!"  and  passing  his  arm  around  the  neck  of  Marcel  with 
filial  familiarity,  the  young  man  took  a  few  steps  with  him 
in  the  gallery  towards  his  cabinet.  But  suddenly  stopping,  he 
added  in  the  most  natural  manner,  as  if  struck  by  a  thought: 
"Oh,  I  forgot !"  He  then  left  Marcel  and  stepped  back  towards 
the  seigneur  of  Norville,  whom  he  called.  The  latter  hastened 
to  respond  and  the  Eegent  whispered  to  him:  "This  evening, 
at  nightfall,  let  a  vessel  manned  with  two  trusty  sailors  be  ready 
for  me  just  outside  the  barrier  facing  the  postern  gate  of  the 
Louvre  .  .  .  Gather  all  my  gold  and  precious  stones  in  a 
coffer,  and  keep  yourself  ready  to  accompany  me.  Prudence  and 
discretion !" 

"Sire,  rely  upon  me !" 

"Well,  Jocelyn,"  said  Marcel  to  the  champion  during  the  secret 
conversation  of  the  Regent  and  his  courtier,  "you  see  it  ... 
My  hopes  have  not  been  deceived  .  .  .  The  lesson  was  ter- 
rible and  salutary.  Return  home  and  tell  Marguerite  that  I 
do  not  expect  to  be  back  until  late.  I  wish  to  profit  on  the  spot 
by  the  young  man's  repentance.  He  and  I  will  probably  work  to- 
gether a  part  of  the  night." 

"Pardon  me.  my  jrood  father,"  said  the  Resrent  to  the  provost, 
returning  to  him;  "we  shall  doubtlessly  be  up  late  together,  and 


142  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

I  wished  to  notify  the  Queen  that  I  may  not  see  her  again  to- 
day" ;  and  again  placing  his  arm  around  Marcel's  neck  he  said  to 
him  while  walking  towards  the  cabinet:  "Now,  to  work!  Good 
father,  to  work !  And  quickly !" 

Thus,  followed  by  the  seigneur  of  Norville,  the  two  quitted 
the  gallery,  from  which  also  Jocelyn  and  Eufin  took  their  de- 
parture together. 

'•'After  what  you  have  just  heard,"  remarked  the  champion  to 
the  student,  "can  you  still  entertain  any  doubts  concerning  the 
Regent's  sincerity  ?  Do  you  still  believe  he  plays  a  comedy  ?" 

"Do  you  remember,  Jocelyn,  that  at  the  University  we  were 
in  the  habit  of  taking  aim  with  a  stone  saying :  'If  my  stone  hits, 
my  first  wish  will  be  realized  ?' " 

"Rufin !"  sadly  answered  the  champion,  "since  on  my  arrival 
in  Paris  I  learned  of  my  father's  death,  I  have  lost  my  sense 
of  humor.  As  I  said  to  you  before,  I  say  now,  let  us  talk  serious- 
ly, my  friend." 

"I  would  not,  my  worthy  Jocelyn,  seem  to  make  light  of  your 
bereavement;  and  yet,  out  of  place  as  my  words  may  seem,  they 
are,  by  Jupiter,  to  the  point !  All  I  shall  say  is  this :  Day  be- 
fore yesterday,  my  wench  Margot  gave  me,  with  a  good  many 
monkey  tricks  and  pussy  purrings,  an  assignment  at  the  river 
bank.  If  Margot  is  faithful  to  her  promise,  I  shall  then  believe 
the  Regent  to  be  sincere  in  his  good  resolves ;  not  before." 

"The  devil  take  the  fool!"  said  Jocelyn  impatiently  and  he 
walked  away  ahead  of  Rufin,  who  pensively  said  to  himself: 
"My  friend  Rufin  the  Head  smasher,  you  are  become  as  much  of 
a  fatalist  as  a  Mohamedan  I  That's  a  shameful  thing  for  a  free 
thinker  I" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  HOUR  HAS  SOUNDED! 

Marcel  had  not  yet  arrived  home  although  night  was  far  ad- 
vanced. Marguerite,  Denise  and  William  Caillet  were  seated  to- 
gether in  one  of  the  upper  chambers  of  the  house.  The  two 
women  listened  with  wrapt  and  grief-stricken  attention  to  the 
narrative  of  Jocelyn  who  had  just  finished  the  story  of  Aveline 
and  Mazurec. 

"Delivered  from  the  dungeon  in  the  castle  of  Beaumont,  thanks 
to  the  bizarre  generosity  of  Captain  Griffith,"  the  champion  was 
saying,  "I  hastened  to  Paris,  and  at  my  arrival,"  added  the  young 
man  unable  to  contain  his  tears,  "I  learned  of  the  death  of  my 
venerated  father." 

"Ah !  At  least  he  loved  you  with  his  last  breath,"  said  Denise 
sharing  the  emotions  of  Jocelyn.  "Your  father  came  here  almost 
every  day,  and  we  only  spoke  of  you." 

"Let  that  thought  console  you,  Jocelyn,"  observed  Marguerite. 
Your  father  considered  you  an  exemplary  son." 

"I  know  it,  Dame  Marguerite ;  and  the  thought  does  afford  me 
some  consolation  in  my  bereavement.  Before  dying  my  father 
gave  me  a  proof  of  the  confidence  he  placed  in  my  respect  and  af- 
fection. He  made  an  important  revelation." 

"On  what  ?"  asked  Marguerite. 

"I  told  you  of  the  profound  interest  that  Mazurec  inspired 
me  with,  Mazurec,  the  husband  of  Caillet's  daughter,"  answered 
Jocelyn  with  deep  emotion.  "Well,  then,  after  the  last  revela- 
tion made  by  my  father,  I  can  doubt  no  longer  that  Mazurec  is 
my  brother !" 

"Are  you  certain?"  Marguerite  and  Denise  cried  in  one 
voice.  "That  unfortunate  lad,  that  martyr,  your  brother!" 


144  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Is  it  possible?"  asked  Caillet  in  turn  and  no  less  astonished. 
"How  do  you  know  it?" 

"When  my  mother  died,"  explained  Jocelyn,  "I  was  a  child 
and  my  father  quite  young.  One  evening,  some  four  or  five 
years  later,  as  he  was  entering  Paris,  he  found  on  the  road  a 
young  peasant  woman  lying  on  the  ground  unconscious  and 
bleeding  of  a  wound.  Moved  by  compassion,  he  raised  and 
carried  her  to  a  neighboring  inn.  The  young  woman  regained 
consciousness  and  informed  him  that  she  was  a  vassal  of  the 
Bishop  of  Paris,  and  that,  having  lost  her  mother  since  early 
childhood,  she  was  then  fleeing  from  a  merciless  step-mother 
who  that  same  day  came  near  killing  her.  The  young  woman 
was  named  Gervaise.  Touched  by  her  youth,  her  misfortune 
and  her  beauty,  my  father  apprenticed  her  to  a  washerwoman 
who  lived  near  us.  He  often  visited  his  protege.  Both  loved 
each  other,  and  one  day  Gervaise  informed  my  father  that  she 
carried  under  her  heart  the  fruit  of  their  joint  indiscretion. 
My  father,  as  an  honest  man,  realized  his  duty,  but  being  at  that 
season  forced  to  leave  Paris  on  a  trip,  promised  Gervaise  under 
oath  to  marry  her  upon  his  return.  Several  weeks,  a  month  and 
two  passed  by  and  my  father  did  not  return — " 

"But  he  was  a  man  incapable  of  violating  a  sacred  promise," 
interjected  Marguerite.  "During  the  long  years  that  we  knew 
your  father,  we  learned  to  appreciate  the  straightforwardness  of 
his  nature  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  Undoubtedly  some 
serious  accident  must  have  kept  him  away." 

"Almost  at  the  end  of  his  journey,  my  father  was  attacked 
by  a  band  of  highwaymen.  He  was  robbed,  wounded  and  left 
for  dead  on  the  road." 

"And  that  prevented  him  from  communicating  with  Ger- 
vaise?" 

"He  was  picked  up  and  for  a  long  time  he  languished  between 
life  and  death.  The  unhappy  woman  thought  herself  deserted. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  145 

The  consequences  of  her  error  began  to  betray  her  weakness. 
A  prey  to  shame  and  despair  she  left  Paris !" 

"Her  condition  should  have  earned  the  sympathy  of  people." 
"Barely  convalescent,  my  father  hastened  to  write  to  Ger- 
vaise  announcing  his  speedy  return.  But  when  he  arrived  she 
had  disappeared.  Despite  all  the  inquiries  that  he  instituted,  he 
never  succeeded  in  finding  her  again.  Her  disappearance  was  a 
great  sorrow  to  him,  and  remorse  haunted  him  the  rest  of  his 
days.  Such  was  his  confession  in  a  letter  that  he  wrote  to  me 
shortly  before  his  death,  and  in  which  he  conjured  me,  if  by 
some  accident,  impossible  to  foresee,  I  should  meet  Gervaise  or 
her  child,  i/o  atone  for  the  injury  that  he  had  involuntarily  done 
to  both." 

"And  thus,  thanks  to  a  strange  coincidence,"  observed  Mar- 
guerite, "you  now  feel  certain  that  the  unhappy  Mazurec,  whose 
distressing  story  you  have  told  us,  is  indeed  your  brother?" 

"I  can  have  no  doubt.  After  leaving  Paris,  Gervaise  arrived 
in  Beauvoisis  begging  for  her  bread,  shortly  before  giving  birth 
to  Mazurec,  and  he  himself  told  me  that  his  mother's  name  was 
Gervaise ;  that  she  was  blonde ;  that  her  eyes  were  black,  and  that 
she  had  a  little  scar  above  the  left  eyebrow.  The  description 
corresponds  exactly  with  that  which  my  father  left  me  of  tha 
poor  creature.  The  scar  came  from  a  blow  that  she  received 
from  her  step-mother.  Finally,  by  naming  her  son  Mazurec, 
one  of  my  father's  names,  the  poor  woman  furnished  the  last 
link  to  the  chain  of  evidence." 

"Your  father  was  at  least  saved  a  bitter  sorrow,"  remarked 
Denise  sadly,  "of  never  having  learned  the  horrible  fate  of  Ger- 
vaise's  son." 

Steps  were  at  that  moment  heard  mounting  the  stairs.  Mar- 
guerite listened  attentively,  and  quickly  rising  and  stepping  to 
the  door  exclaimed  :  "It  is  Marcel !  God  be  praised  !"  and  turn- 
ing '"n  a  low  voice  to  Denise  who  had  followed  her:  "I  could 


146  THE  IRON  TREVE1 . 

hardly  conceal  my  uneasiness;  my  husband's  late  absence  was 
seriously  alarming  me.     May  God  be  praised  for  his  return !" 

The  provost  entered,  and  after  answering  the  tender  caresses 
of  his  wife  and  niece,  said  to  them :  "I  suppose  you  think  I  am 
tired  of  the  night  at  work  with  the  Regent,  yet  never  have  I 
felt  so  easy  in  mind  and  so  light  of  heart.  Happiness  is  such  a 
sweet  recreation  !  I  was  profoundly  happy  to  see  that  young  man 
return  to  the  path  of  duty  and  equity  as  if  by  enchantment, 
and  express  regret  at  his  errors,  and  promise  to  atone  for  them. 
Well  was  I  in  the  right  to  say  that  we  must  never  despair  of 
youth." 

"Then,  my  friend,"  asked  Marguerite,  "the  Regent  did  not 
deceive  your  last  hopes?" 

"He  went  beyond  them.  We  have  just  taken  prompt  and 
energetic  measures  looking  to  the  realization  of  the  just  and 
fruitful  reforms  that  were  enacted  last  year  by  the  national 
assembly.  We  shall  now  appeal  to  the  nation's  courage  and  de- 
votion to  put  an  end  to  the  disastrous  war  with  the  English. 
We  are  to  call,  not  upon  the  nobility  only,  but  upon  the  whole 
people — peasants,  townsmen  and  artisans— to  take  up  arms  in 
this  holy  war.  That  great  triumph  is  to  be  the  signal  for  the 
deliverance  of  our  rustic  brothers/'  added  Marcel  reaching  out  his 
hand  to  Caillet.  "Yes,  those  who  will  have  gloriously  vanquished 
and  chased  away  the  enemy,  having  become  free  men  by  their 
victory,  are  for  ever  after  to  be  free  from  the  tyranny  of  the 
seigneurs  who  have  not  even  known  how  to  protect  our  native 
country.  Oh,  my  friend,  how  many  agonies  and  sufferings 
does  not  that  hope  wipe  off  from  my  heart  and  mind !  The 
hope  of  seeing  Gaul  at  last  victorious  and  free,  peaceful  and 
prosperous !" 

"Master  Marcel !  Treason !  .  .  .  Treason !"  suddenly  re- 
sounded from  a  voice  rushing  up  the  stairs.  The  provost  held 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  147 

his  breath,  all  others  in  the  chamber  trembled  with  fear,  and 
Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher  rushed  in  breathless,  repeating: 
"Treason !  .  .  .  Master  Marcel,  treason !" 

"Who  betrays?"  cried  Jocelyn.     "Speak!" 

"Do  you  remember  this  morning  at  the  Louvre?"  answered 
Rufin.  "I  told  you  then  that  if  Margot,  my  wench,  keeps  the 
appointment  she  made  with  me,  I  shall  then  believe  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  Regent,  but  not  before !" 

"Young  man,"  put  in  Marcel  with  severity,  seeing  his  wife 
and  niece  blush  at  the  amorous  confidences  of  the  student,  "is 
it  for  the  purpose  of  cracking  bad  jokes  that  you  have  come  to 
alarm  my  household?" 

"The  news  I  bring  will  be  an  apology,  Master  Marcel,"  re- 
spectfully answered  Rufin  mopping  his  forehead  that  streamed 
with  perspiration ;  "the  Regent  has  fled  from  Paris  .  .  " 

"The  Regent  has  fled !"  cried  Marcel  stupefied.  "Impossible ! 
It  is  hardly  half  an  hour  since  I  was  with  him." 

"And  that  is  less  time  than  he  needed  to  descend  from  the 
Louvre,  to  go  out  by  the  postern  gate  that  opens  upon  the  river 
outside  of  the  barrier  and  to  jump  upon  a  skiff  that  was  waiting 
for  him !" 

"You  are  dreaming!"  replied  Jocelyn,  while  Marcel  seemed 
thunderstruck,  unable  to  understand  what  he  heard.  "You  are 
dreaming,  my  gay  Rufin,  or  you  have  just  left  some  tavern 
the  fumes  of  whose  wine  have  upset  your  mind." 

"By  Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine,  and  by  Morpheus,  the  god  of 
slumbers!"  cried  the  student,  "I  am  as  certain  that  I  am  wide 
awake  as  that  I  am  not  drunk!  I  saw  the  Regent  with  my 
two  eyes  step  into  the  vessel,  and  with  my  two  ears  I  heard  tho 
Regent  say  to  the  friend  who  accompanied  him:  'I  leave  this 
accursed  town,  and  I  swear  not  to  set  foot  in  it  again  until  Mar- 
cel, the  councilmen  and  the  other  chiefs  of  rebels  shall  have 
paid  with  their  heads  for  their  insolent  audacity  and  for  the 
revolt  of  these  accursed  Parisians.'  Is  that  clear  enough? 


148  THE    IRON    TREVET 

Moreover,  would  I  dare  come  here  and  tell  yarns  to  Master 
Marcel,  whom  I  admire  and  respect  as  much  as  any  one  could  ? 
And  above  all  when,  in  the  teeth  of  the  privileges  of  the  Uni- 
versity, he  had  me  housed  at  the  Chatelet,  together  with  my  chum 
Nicholas  the  Thin-skinned  because  of  the  racket  we  made  one 
night  on  the  street?"  Noticing  that  despite  certain  irrelevant 
details  of  his  report,  the  people  in  the  chamber  began  to  attach 
faith  to  his  words,  Kufin  continued,  while  Marcel  seemed  racked 
with  painful  astonishment  and  a  prey  to  overpowering  indigna- 
tion: "As  I  was  telling  you,  I  had  an  assignation  with  my 
wench  Margot,  on  the  river  bank,  outside  the  barriers.  Tired 
of  waiting  in  vain  for  this  fallacious  creature,  I  was  about  to 
leave  when  I  perceived  a  lighted  lantern  on  the  other  side 
of  the  barrier  and  just  under  the  postern  of  the  Louvre.  Know- 
ing as  well  as  anybody  that  the  vaulted  corridor  of  that  issue 
runs  out  on  one  of  the  stairs  of  the  large  tower,  a  suspicion 
flashed  through  my  mind.  The  night  was  silent.  At  the  risk 
of  drowning  and  of  going  to  Pluto  to  meet  Margot,  only  this 
time  on  the  borders  of  the  Styx,  I  reached  the  stairs  by  clamber- 
ing along  the  poles  and  the  chain  of  the  barriers.  At  that  mo- 
ment the  bearer  of  the  lantern,  who  must  have  meant  to  make 
sure  that  the  vessel  was  there,  re-entered  the  palace.  I  slid 
along  the  wall  of  the  Louvre  up  to  the  postern  and  there, 
screened  by  the  gate  which  was  left  open,  I  soon  heard  a  voice 
saying :  'Come,  come,  Sire ;  the  vessel  and  the  two  boats  are  near 
the  shore.'  At  which  the  Regent  answered  in  the  way  I  have 
just  stated  to  Master  Marcel — 'I  leave  the  accursed  town,  and  I 
swear  not  to  set  foot  in  it  again  until  Mjarcel,  the  councilmen 
and  the  other  chiefs  of  rebels  shall  have  paid  with  their  heads 
for  their  insolent  audacity  and  for  the  revolt  of  these  accursed 
Parisians.'  The  Regent  and  his  companion  marched  quietly  to 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  soon  the  sound  of  oars  told  me 
that  the  boat  was  leaving  rapidly.  It  vanished  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night."  Turning  to  Jocelyn  with  a  triumphant  air,  tho 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  149 

student  remarked:  "Well,  what  did  I  tell  you  this  morning? 
You  took  me  for  a  fool !  And  now  you  see  the  Regent  has 
fled  from  Paris  threatening  the  inhabitants  with  vengeance !  By 
the  bowels  of  the  Pope!  The  belief  in  fatalism  is  a  great 
thing!" 

Learning  that  Marcel  was  now  running  fresh  dangers,  Mar- 
guerite exchanged  glances  of  anxiety  with  Denise,  while  seeking 
to  conceal  her  alarm  from  her  husband  lest  she  increased  his 
worries.  On  the  other  hand,  foreseeing  that  the  Regent's  trea- 
son would  hasten  the  uprising  of  the  rustic  serfs,  Caillet  shrugged 
his  shoulders  with  sinister  gladness.  Finally,  Marcel,  with  his 
arms  crossed  upon  his  breast,  his  head  lowered,  his  lips  contracted 
with  a  bitter  smile,  broke  the  silence  with  these  words  uttered 
deliberately:  "When  we  parted  the  Eegent  said  to  me:  'My 
good  father,  I  beseech  you,  go  and  take  a  little  rest;  night  is 
falling;  I  desire  to-morrow  early  to  renew  our  work  with  fresh 
ardor.  Go  and  take  rest,  my  good  father,  and  you  will  enjoy 
as  much  as  myself  the  restful  sleep  that  will  come  to  us  from 
knowledge  of  having  done  right/  Such  were  the  last  words  T 
had  from  that  young  man/' 

"Oh,  Marcel/'  said  Marguerite,  "how  will  you  not  regret  the 
confidence  you  placed  in  him !" 

"Let  us  never  regret  having  had  faith  in  the  repentence  of  a 
man.  If  we  do,  we  shall  become  merciless.  Moreover,  there  are 
treasons  so  black  and  monstrous  that  in  order  to  suspect  them 
one  must  be  almost  capable  of  committing  them."  After  another 
short  interval  of  contemplative  silence  Marcel  resumed:  "I 
hoped  to  save  Gaul  fresh  bloodshed !  Vain  hope !  That  unhappy 
fool  wants  war !  How  much  is  he  not  to  be  pitied  for  being  so 
ill-advised !" 

"You  pity  him!"  cried  Marguerite;  "and  yet  his  last  words 
threatened  you  with  death  !" 

"Dear  wife;  if  my  head  were  all  that  was  at  stake,  I  would 
not  enter  into  a  terrible  struggle  to  preserve  it.  I  have  achieved 


ISO  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

things  that  sooner  or  later  will  bear  fruit.  My  share  in  this 
world  has  been  handsome  and  large.  I  am  ready  to  quit  life. 
It  is  not  my  head  that  I  would  dispute  to  the  Regent,  it  is  the 
lives  of  our  councilmen,  it  is  the  lives  of  a  mass  of  our  fellow 
townsmen,  all  of  them  menaced  by  the  merciless  revenge  of  the 
court !  What  I  wish  to  defend  is  our  freedom  so  dearly  bought 
by  our  fathers;  what  I  wish  to  secure  is  the  enfranchisement 
of  those  millions  of  serfs  who  are  driven  to  extremities  by  the 
tyranny  of  the  seigneurs.  Finally,  what  I  aim  at  is  the  welfare 
of  Gaul,  to-day  exhausted  and  moribund !  The  dice  are  cast. 
The  Eegent  and  seigneurs  want  war!  They  shall  have  war! 
.  .  .  a  terrible  war !  .  .  .  Such  a  war  as  human  memory 
does  not  recall !"  Saying  this,  Marcel  sat  down  at  a  table  and 
rapidly  wrote  a  few  lines  upon  a  parchment. 

"No!"  replied  William  Caillet  in  a  tremor  of  rage.  "No; 
never  will  that  have  been  seen  that  will  be  seen  now!  Up, 
Jacques  Bonhomme !"  cried  the  old  peasant  in  savage  exalta- 
tion. "Up!  Seize  the  fagot!  Fall  to!  Take  in  the  harvest, 
Jacques  Bonhomme,  and  be  not  dainty  about  it!  Take  up  your 
scythe  in  your  bare  arms — the  short  and  sharp  scythe !  Let  not 
a  blade  be  left  to  be  gleaned  after  you!"  and  reaching  out 
his  trembling  hand  to  Marcel,  the  serf  added:  "Adieu,  I  de- 
part well  satisfied.  By  to-morrow  evening  I  shall  be  in  the  coun- 
try. At  dawn  of  the  next  day  Jacques  Bonhomme  will  be  up 
and  doing  in  Beauvoisis,  in  Picardy,  in  Laonnais  and  in  many 
other  districts !"  « 

"Postpone  your  departure  just  one  hour,"  answered  Marcel 
•while  sealing  the  letter  he  nad  just  written.  "I  am  going  to 
the  Louvre.  You  shall  depart  at  my  return." 

"My  friend,"  exclaimed  Marguerite  in  alarm,  "what  do  you 
want  at  the  Louvre?" 

"To  make  certain  of  the  Regent's  departure,  although  the 
account,  given  by  Rufin  leaves  me  no  doubt  on  that  head.  I 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  151 

wish,  before  resorting  to  terrible  extremes,  to  be  absolutely  certain 
of  the  Eegent's  treason." 

As  Marcel  was  uttering  the  last  words,  Agnes  the  Bigot  en- 
tered precipitately  and  delivered  to  her  master  a  letter  that  one 
of  the  town  sergeants  had  just  brought  in  great  haste.  Marcel 
took  the  letter,  read  it  quickly  and  cried:  "The  councilmen 
have  assembled  at  the  town  hall  and  expect  me.  One  of  them, 
instructed  by  a  man  connected  with  the  palace  on  the  flight  of 
the  Regent,  ran  to  the  Louvre,  assured  himself  of  the  fact,  and 
hastily  convoked  the  council.  No  doubt  now.  The  Regent'? 
treason  is  confirmed."  Delivering  to  Jocelyn  the  letter  he  had 
just  written,  Marcel  said  to  him:  "Take  horse,  and  carry 
this  letter  to  the  King  of  Navarre  at  St.  Denis.  Wait  for  no 
answer." 

"I  shall  jump  on  your  horse's  crupper,  Jocelyn,"  cried  Caillet. 
I  shall  that  way  reach  the  country  a  few  hours  sooner." 

"Done !"  said  the  champion ;  and  turning  to  Marcel :  "After 
I  shall  have  delivered  your  letter  to  the  King  of  Navarre,  I  shall 
pursue  my  route  with  Caillet  to  join  by  brother  Mazurec." 

"It  is  your  duty,  go!"  answered  Marcel  stretching  his  arms 
out  to  Jocelyn.  "Embrace  me.  Who  knows  whether  we  shall 
ever  again  meet!"  And  after  having  pressed  the  champion  to 
his  breast,  he  took  the  hand  of  Denise  who  turned  away  her 
head  to  hide  her  tears,  and  added :  "Whatever  may  befall  me, 
Denise  shall  be  your  wife  upon  your  return;  you  could  have 
no  worthier  mate,  nor  could  she  choose  a  worthier  husband; 
may  heaven  grant  that  I  assist  at  your  wedding.  If  later  any 
danger  should  threaten  you,  you  will  find  a  safe  retreat  in  Lor- 
raine at  Vaucouleurs  with  the  relatives  of  my  niece." 

Breaking  out  into  tears  and  almost  fainting,  but  supported 
by  Marguerite,  Denise  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Jocelyn  who 
covered  it  with  kisses,  while  Marcel  said  to  Caillet :  "Now,  the 


152  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

hour  has  sounded!  To  arms,  Jacques  Bonhomme!  Peasants, 
artisans,  townsmen,  all  for  each !  Each  for  all !  To  the  happy 
issue  of  the  good  cause!" 

"To  the  happy  issue  of  the  good  cause!"  rejoined  the  serf 
shaking  with  impatience.  "To  an  evil  issue  the  cause  of  the 
seigneurs  and  their  clergy!  Up,  Jacques  Bonhomme!  War 
upon  the  castles  \" 

"And  I,"  cried  the  student  addressing  Caillet  while  Marcel 
was  giving  his  last  instructions  to  Jocelyn,  "I  also  will  accom- 
pany you.  I  have  shins  of  steel  to  tire  out  a  horse.  I  shall  ride 
ahead  of  Jocelyn's  steed.  To  a  happy  issue  the  good  cause! 
I  represent  the  alliance  of  the  University  with  the  rustic  folks. 
Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher  was  my  name  of  peace;  Rufin  the 
Head-smasher  becomes  my  name  of  war !  And  by  the  god  Syl- 
vanus,  the  genius  of  the  fields  and  forests,  I  shall  make  havoc 
in  this  sylvan  war !  Forward !  Forward !  .  .  . 

A  few  minutes  later  William  Caillet  departed  from  Marcel's 
domicile  accompanied  by  the  champion  and  the  student,  all  three 
bound  for  Beauvoisis. 


PART  m. 

THE  JACQUERIE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
CAPTAIN  GRIFFITH  AND  HIS  CHAPLAIN. 

The  morning  after  William  Caillet,  Jocelyn  the  Champion 
and  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher  left  Paris,  a  band  of  English 
adventurers,  commanded  by  Captain  Griffith,  and  who  for  some 
time  had  been  raiding  the  region  of  Beauvoisis,  was  marching 
under  a  balmy  May  sun  in  the  direction  of  the  village  of  Cram- 
oisy.  The  men,  about  a  hundred  all  told,  and  armed  with 
weapons  of  different  descriptions,  marched  in  disorder  with  the 
exception  of  about  fifty  archers  who  carried  on  their  shoulders 
their  six-feet-long  ash  bows,  a  favorite  weapon  with  the  English, 
and  which  they  handled  with  such  dexterity  that  at  the  battle 
of  Poitiers  ten  thousand  of  them  were  enough  to  put  to  rout 
the  army  of  King  John,  consisting  of  more  than  forty  thousand 
men  commanded  by  the  elite  of  the  French  nobility. 

Several  empty  carts,  hitched  to  horses  and  oxen  and  led  by 
peasants  who  had  been  pressed  into  Captain  Griffith's  band  under 
pain  of  death,  were  intended  for  the  prospective  booty.  The 
English  sold  to  the  contiguous  towns  the  proceeds  of  their 
thefts  from  the  castles,  as  well  as  the  droves  of  cattle  that  they 
took  from  the  fields.  In  these  towns  the  raiders  were  certain 
of  purchasers  for  the  sufficient  reason  that  whoever  refused 
was  hanged  on  the  spot.  Captain  Griffith  affected  a  lordly  gen- 
erosity towards  his  customers  in  consenting  to  leave  with  them 
the  spoils  of  his  thieving  exploits  in  exchange  for  moneys  that  it 
was  in  his  power  to  rob  them  of.  In  his  quality  of  the  bastard 
of  a  great  lord,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  he  prided  himself  of 
acting  courteously,  "as  a  true  Englishman,"  according  to  his  fa- 
vorite phrase,  and  not  scurvily  like  so  many  other  leaders  of  mer- 
cenary bands. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  155 

Captain  Griffith — a  man  in  the  full  vigor  of  his  age,  robust 
and  corpulent,  and  with  hair  and  beard  of  a  reddish  blonde — 
rode  at  the  head  of  his  archers,  the  elites  of  his  troop.  Although 
in  full  armor,  he  had  hung  his  casque  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle,  and  now  wore  on  his  head  a  bonnet  of  fox-skin.  Bold- 
ness, incontinence  and  a  sort  of  cruel  joviality  stood  out  from  the 
features  of  the  Englishman  that  wore  a  rubicund  tint  from 
the  potations  and  meats  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swallowing 
in  enormous  quantities.  The  morning  air  having  sharpened 
his  appetite,  if  ever  it  can  be  said  to  have  been  satisfied,  the 
bastard  of  Norfolk  was  picking  a  ham,  and  from  time  to  time 
lovingly  resorted  to  a  wine  pouch  that  also  hung  from  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle.  At  his  side  rode  his  lieutenant,  whom 
with  impious  mockery  he  styled  his  "Chaplain."  Guilty  of  all 
the  crimes  on  the  calendar,  Captain  Griffith  took,  like  Rolf  the 
Norman  pirate  before  him,  a  diabolical  delight  in  all  manner  of 
sacrilege. 

The  Chaplain,  a  hulky  scamp  with  a  toper's  face  and  as  vig- 
orous of  bone  as  his  Captain,  wore  under  his  iron  coat  of  mail 
a  monk's  gown  and  on  his  head  a  steel  helmet. 

"My  son,"  said  he  to  the  bastard  of  Norfolk,  "without  meaning 
to  offend  you,  I  shall  have  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact 
that  this  is  the  third  time  you  put  your  wine  pouch  to  your 
mouth  without  offering  your  brother  in  Beelzebub  to  quench  his 
thirst." 

"What  have  you  eaten,  Chaplain,  to  make  you  so  thirsty?" 

"By  the  devil!  I  have  been  eating  with  my  eyes  the  ham 
that  you  have  been  devouring  with  your  teeth." 

"Why,  then,  quench  your  thirst  by  seeing  me  drink!  Your 
health,  friend !" 

"Sacrilege !  To  refuse  wine  to  a  thirsty  chaplain !  I  would 
prefer,  for  the  sake  of  your  salvation,  to  see  you  again  journey  a 
whole  day  on  a  stretch  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  St.  Patrick,  the 
abbot,  and  his  'chapter/  '' 

"Pshaw !"  hissed  Griffith ;  "there  were  relays." 


156  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"True,  several  relays,  each  of  twelve  monks,  and  they  were  suc- 
cessively hitched.  It  was  in  your  favor." 

"There,  devil's  Chaplain,  drink!  Drink  to  my  amorous  ex- 
ploits I" 

After  having  kept  for  a  seemingly  interminable  time  his  lips 
glued  to  the  orifice  of  the  pouch  that  the  Captain  had  passed 
over  to  him,  the  Chaplain  detached  them  for  a  moment,  not  so 
much  for  the  purpose  of  answering  his  worthy  chief  as  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  breath.  Breathing  heavily,  he  asked  :  "What 
amorous  exploits  ?  Sacred  or  profane  ones  ?"  and  then  proceeded 
to  quaff. 

"I  mean  that  winsome  tavern-keeper,  who  escaped  us  at  the 
pillage  of  the  little  town  of  Nointel.  Since  that  day,  the  pretty 
ankles  of  the  brunette  have  not  ceased  trotting  in  my  brain. 
As  sure  as  I  am  Norfolk's  bastard,"  added  the  Captain  while  the 
Chaplain  continued  to  drain  the  contents  of  the  pouch  at  long 
draughts,  "there  are  two  things  that  I  would  sell  my  soul  to 
Beelzebub  for.  First,  to  snatch  up  that  luscious  tavern-keeper, 
second  to  fight  with  that  tall  scamp  whom  we  released  from  the 
dungeons  of  Beaumont.  He  was  then  but  a  bag  of  bones,  but 
when  he  will  have  been  fatted  up,  I  would  wager  your  neck, 
Chaplain,  that  there  is  not  the  likes  of  him  in  this  whole  pol- 
troon country  of  Gaul.  I  am  tired  of  seeing  only  puny  knights 
at  the  point  of  my  lance  whom  I  run  down  as  if  they  were  nine- 
pins. What  a  set  of  cowards  these  French  noblemen  are !" 

At  this  point,  the  lieutenant,  who  had  never  ceased  drinking-, 
emitted  a  long  gurgling  sound,  while  with  his  free  hand  he 
pointed  to  a  small  troop  of  armed  foot-men  headed  by  a  rider, 
and  who  pursued  a  route  that  somewhat  led  away  from  that  of 
the  English,  but  that  ran  out  upon  the  same  clearance  at  the 
top  of  a  hill.  The  rider  who  led  the  foot-men,  ordered  a  halt, 
and  galloping  over  the  meadow  approached  ihe  English  troop 
with  his  right  hand  up  as  a  sign  that  he  had  no  hostile  intentions. 
Fearing,  nevertheless,  some  ambuscade,  Captain  Griffith  also  or- 
dered his  troop  to  halt,  but  he  placed  his  archers  in  line,  donned 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  157 

his  casque,  took  his  long  stout  lance  from  the  hands  of  one  of  his 
men,  and  seeing  the  Chaplain  still  clinging  to  the  pouch  of  wine 
struck  it  from  his  lips  with  so  dexterous  a  lance  thrust  that, 
slightly  grazing  the  drinker's  nose,  the  weapon  hurled  the  pouch 
ten  paces  off.  "You  have  watered  quite  enough!"  he  said  with 
a  gruff  laugh. 

"Fortunately  the  pouch  is  now  empty,"  said  the  Chaplain 
wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  right  hand;  "not  a  drop 
has  been  lost." 

The  unknown  rider  approached  the  while,  but  suddenly  reined 
in  seeing  the  archers,  as  was  their  wont  before  shooting  their 
bolts,  plant  their  left  feet  in  the  center  of  their  bows  in  order  to 
bend  them. 

"I  come  as  a  friend  I" 

"Who  are  you  ?"  demanded  the  bastard  of  Norfolk.  "What  do 
you  want?" 

"I  am  the  bailiff  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  the  seigneur  of  these 
domains.  I  wish  to  speak  with  the  valiant  Captain  Griffith." 

"I  am  he     .     .     .     What  do  you  want?" 

"Sir,  is  it  you  who  have  just  pillaged  the  burgs  and  villages  of 
our  seigneur,  the  Sire  of  Nointel?" 

"Would  you,  perchance,  want  to  prevent  me?" 

"On  the  contrary,  Sir;  I  have  come  in  the  name  of  my  seig- 
neur to  offer  you  the  advice  of  my  old  experience  in  order  to  help 
you  to  collect  ransom  from  these  villeins.  Jacques  Bonhomme 
is  a  wily  customer ;  he  has  hiding  places  where  he  keeps  his  coin 
under  shelter,  and  even  provisions  and  cattle." 

"Chaplain,"  the  Captain  broke  in  upon  the  bailiff,  "we  shall 
have  to  cut  the  ears  of  this  fellow  who  comes  here  to  mock  us. 
Draw  your  cutlass  and  give  him  absolution  for  his  sins." 

"Sir,  listen  to  me,  and  you  will  be  convinced  that  I  am  not 
joking!"  cried  the  bailiff.  "Are  you  the  son  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk?" 


158  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"A  bastard  son  by  my  mother's  virtue.  But  seeing  she  be- 
stowed upon  me  a  good  fist,  good  eyes  and  good  teeth  I  hold  her 
quits.  I  remain  noble  from  one  side." 

"The  Duke  your  father  knows  that  you  hold  the  field  in  this 
region,  and  he  is  charmed  with  your  prowesses.  He  wrote  so  to 
my  master/' 

"A  short  time  ago,  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  my  archers'  re- 
turn to  Guyenne,  I  wrote  to  my  father :  'My  lord,  in  your  life 
you  gave  me  nothing  but  a  kick  with  your  left  foot  which  I 
still  feel;  but  I  am  none  the  less  your  affectionate  bastard  who 
is  doing  havoc  in  Gaul  and  who  signs  himself — Captain  Grif- 
fith.' '; 

"Sir,"  said  the  bailiff  handing  a  letter  to  the  Captain,  "here  is 
the  answer  of  the  noble  Duke,  your  father." 

Greatly  astonished,  Captain  Griffith  broke  the  seal  on  the 
parchment  and  read:  "One  of  the  poltroon  French  knights 
whom  I  took  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers  will  deliver  this 
letter  to  you  and  also  six  thousand  florins  for  his  ransom.  You 
are  a  fine  scamp.  Persevere  in  your  exploits — Norfolk." 

"What  a  father !"  exclaimed  the  Chaplain  raising  his  hands  to 
heaven.  "What  a  son!" 

"Six  thousand  florins !"  cried  Captain  Griffith.  "Well !  The 
good  man  must  have  remembered  my  worthy  mother";  and  ad- 
dressing the  bailiff  he  asked :  "Where  are  the  six  thousand 
florins?" 

"In  the  purses  of  the  vassals  of  my  seigneur,  the  Sire  of  Noin- 
tel,  who  was  taken  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers  by  the 
noble  Duke  of  Norfolk.  But,  oh !  My  master  is  ruined  by  the 
costs  of  war  and  not  a  florin  in  the  castle.  But  he  gave  his 
word  as  a  Christian  and  a  knight  to  pay  his  ransom  to  your 
father  or  to  you,  Sir.  He  will  keep  his  word.  It  is  an  estab- 
lished custom  that  the  vassals  must  ransom  their  seigneurs  when 
taken  prisoner.  I  therefore  come,  Sir  Captain,  to  offer  to  you, 
by  order  of  my  master  what  little  service  I  can  render  to  you 
to  the  end  of  aiding  you  in  collecting  the  sum,  a  very  difficult 


THE  IRON  T REVET. 


'59 


thing  to  do  without  our  aid.  If  you  want  a  proof,  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  follow  me  not  far  from  here,  and  you  will  see  some- 
thing that  will  greatly  astonish  you." 

Captain  Griffith,  whose  curiosity  was  now  pricked,  started  his 
horse  at  the  pace  of  the  bailiff's,  and  resuming  its  march  the 
troop  descended  the  flank  of  the  hill  at  whose  foot  lay  the  strag- 
gling village  of  Cramoisy,  consisting  of  about  three  hundred  cot- 
tages and  houses.  The  silence  of  the  tomb  reigned  in  these 
homes.  They  were  deserted,  and  the  open  doors  showed  their 
interiors  to  be  empty  and  bare.  Stupefied,  Captain  Griffith 
reined  in  his  horse  and  said  to  the  bailiff : 

"By  the  devil !  Where  are  the  inhabitants  of  these  shanties  ?" 
"The  other  villages  of  this  seigniory  are  as  deserted  as  this 
one.  You  will  find  there,  Sir,  neither  women,  nor  men,  nor 
children,  nor  cattle,"  answered  the  bailiff.  "There  are  left,  as 
you  see,  only  the  four  walls  of  the  houses.  You  will,  there- 
fore, find  it  difficult  to  collect  here  even  the  smallest  fraction 
of  your  six  thousand  florins.  Jacques  Bonhomme  is  a  sly  fox; 
he  had  wind  of  your  coming  and  has  run  into  the  earth  to  escape 
you.  But,  to  a  sly  fox  a  sly  limehound.  I  know  the  burrow  of 
Jacques  Bonliomme.  Follow  me,  Sir." 
"Where  to  ?  Whither  do  you  lead  us  ?" 

"Only  one  league  from  here  .  .  .  But  we  shall  have  to 
descend  from  our  horses  at  the  outskirts  of  the  forest.  You  can 
leave  there  the  gross  of  your  troop.  A  dozen  of  your  archers 
will  be  enough  for  the  job  I  have  in  mind.  The  risk  is  slight." 

"Whv  would  you  have  me  descend  from  horseback,  and  leave 
behind  the  bulk  of  my  troop?" 

"It  will,  in  the  first  place,  be  impossible  for  us  to  ride  on 
horseback  over  the  quagmires,  jungles  and  bogs  that  we  shall 
have  to  cross  in  order  to  arrive  at  the  hiding  place  of  Jacques 
Bonhomme.  In  the  second  place,  the  fox  has  a  sharp  ear.  The 
noise  made  by  a  large  troop  would  give  him  the  alarm." 

"Captain,"  suggested  the  Chaplain,  "suppose  this  scamp  were, 
but  leading  us  into  an  ambuscade?" 


j6o  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Chaplain,  never  did  Griffith  recoil  before  danger,"  was  the 
Captain's  answer ;  "moreover,  if  this  bailiff  with  a  marten's  snout 
should  deceive  us,  let  him  be  forewarned.  At  the  first  suspicion 
of  treachery  we  shall  promptly  hack  him  to  pieces." 

"That's  right,"  returned  the  Chaplain.  "Let's  march!  His 
skin  answers  for  our  lives." 

"March  3"  ordered  Captain  Griffith,  and  guided  by  the  bailiff, 
who  had  been  rejoined  by  his  men,  the  troop  left  the  village  of 
Cramoisy  and  wended  its  way  towards  a  forest,  the  skirt  of  which 
drew  its  length  along  the  horizon. 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  FOX'S  BUREOW. 

About  two  leagues  from  the  village  of  Cramoisy,  and  in  the 
thickest  of  the  seigniorial  forest  of  Nointel,  is  a  vast  subter- 
ranean grotto,  out  into  the  chalky  rock  that  offers  little  re- 
sistance to  the  pick  and  the  mattock.  The  cavern  dates  from 
the  far-back  troubled  days  when  the  Norman  pirates  were  in  the 
habit  of  rowing  up  the  Somme,  the  Seine  and  the  Oise  and  raid- 
ing the  surrounding  lands.  Such  of  the  serfs  whose  dire  misery 
did  not  reach  the  pitch  of  constraining  them  to  join  the  Nor- 
mans, and  who  sought  to  escape  the  flood  of  pillage  and  massacre, 
had  dug  the  underground  place  of  refuge.  Carrying  thither 
their  little  havings,  and  even  cattle,  they  remained  hidden  until 
the  pirates  left  the  country.  Similar  places  were  in  later  years 
contrived  in  almost  all  parts  of  Gaul  by  the  vassals  of  the  nobility 
for  the  purpose  of  escaping  the  brigandage  of  the  English,  of  the 
robber  bands  and  of  the  bands  of  mercenaries  who  devastated  the 
provinces,  finally  also  to  escape  the  extortions  of  the  seigneurs 
that  now  became  intolerable,  seeing  that  Jacques  Bonhomme 
was  forced  to  pay  the  ransom  of  their  masters  who  had  been 
taken  prisoners  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers.  In  other  regions  of 
Gaul  the  peasants  withdrew  with  their  families  upon  rafts  which 
they  anchored  midstreams  of  rivers,  and  which  frequently  were 
either  submerged  or  carried  away  by  the  floods  to  be  finally 
swamped  with  the  wretched  mass  of  humanity  that  they  bore. 
Never  before  had  desolation  and  panic  reached  such  a  pitch  in 
the  unfortunate  country;  the  huts  were  almost  all  abandoned, 
the  fields  uncultivated  and  a  famine  was  apprehended  similar 
to  that  which  desolated  Gaul  in  the  year  1000. 

The  underground  retreat  whither  the  inhabitants  of  Cramoisy 


i6a  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

and  several  other  villages  of  the  seigniory  of  Nointel  took  refuge 
consists  of  a  long  vault,  at  the  extremity  and  to  the  right  and 
left  of  which  are  several  other  galleries  in  which  cattle,  goats 
and  sheep  are  crowded.     A  well,  used  for  a  drinking  trough,  is 
dug  in  the  center  of  the  principal  gallery.     Above,  an  opening, 
partially  masked  with  stones  and  underbrush,  admits  some  light 
and  air  to  the  dark  and  icy  asylum  that  oozes  with  the  moisture 
of  the  earth.     There,  more  than  a  thousand  people  crowded  to- 
gether— men,  women  and  children  who  fled  from  their  homes. 
The  milk  of  the  cattle,  a  few  handfuls  of  rye  or  wheat  pounded 
between  two  stones  entertain  rather  than"  appease  the  tortures  of 
hunger.     A  steaming,  suffocating  and  nauseous  heat,  produced 
by  the  agglomeration  of  people  and  cattle,  pervades  the  gloomy 
place.     Now  plaintive  wails  are  heard,  then  the  outbursts  of  vio- 
lent quarrels,  such  as  are  certain  to  break  out  among  semi- 
savages  whom  suffering  exasperates.     Wan  and  half  naked  chil- 
dren, who,  however,  preserve  the  carelessness  of  their  age,  played 
at  this  moment  at  the  edge  of  the  well  which  just  happened 
to  be  lighted  by  a  ray  of  sunlight  that  filtered  through  the  rocks 
and  underbrush  which  concealed  the  only  air-hole  of  the  vault. 
That  sun  ray  also  lighted  a  group  of  three  persons,  huddled 
together  in  a  dug-out  near  the  well.     The  three  persons  were 
Aveline,  Alison  and  Mazurec. 

When  the  little  village  of  Nointel  was  pillaged  by  the  troup 
of  Captain  Griffith,  the  handsome  tavern-keeper  succeeded  in 
saving  what  moneys  she  had  and  fled  to  Cramoisy  where  she 
joined  Aveline.  Learning  there  that  the.  English  were  still 
ravaging  the  neighborhood,  she  joined  the  peasants  in  their 
flight  to  the  underground  retreat. 

Aveline,  now  far  advanced  in  pregnancy,  expected  every  day  to 
be  delivered  of  the  child  of  her  disgrace  and  the  fruit  of  the 
iniquity  perpetrated  upon  her  by  her  seigneur.  Barely  covered 
in  a  few  rags,  she  lay  on  the  cold  and  bare  earth.  Ever  sympa- 
thetic, Alison  held  upon  her  knees  the  languishing  and  pale 
head  of  the  young  girl,  whose  thinness  had  now  become  shocking. 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  163 

Her  hollow  cheeks  imparted  monstrous  size  to  her  eyes,  which  she 
attached  beseechingly  upon  Mazurec,  engaged  at  the  moment  in 
sharpening  upon  a  stone  the  teeth  of  a  pitch-fork  while  mutter- 
ing to  himself:  "William  is  long  in  returning  from  Paris;  we 
are  waiting  for  him  so  as  to  start  the  massacre  .  .  .  sacred 
reprisals !" 

Thus  muttering  to  himself,  Mazurec  continued  sharpening 
his  fork.  He  had  become  a  hideous  sight.  Having  lost  his 
right  eye  since  the  judicial  combat  with  the  knight  of  Chaumon- 
tel,  the  now  hollow,  quivering  and  half  closed  eyelids  on  that 
side  of  his  face  exposed  a  blood-clotted  cavity.  His  crushed  nose 
is  a  mass  of  scars,  purplish  like  his  torn -up  upper  lip  which 
exposes  his  broken  teeth.  His  long  matted  hair  falls  upon  the 
ragged  goat-skin  jacket  which  he  wears  and  from  which  protrude 
his  nervy,  but  now  haggard  arms.  Attaching  upon  her  hus- 
band a  beseeching  look,  Aveline  said  to  him  in  a  weak  and 
sad  voice:  "Mazurec,  if  I  give  birth  to  a  child  before  dying 
.  .  .  promise  me  not  to  kill  it !  .  .  .  Answer  me  .  .  . 
I  beseech  you  in  God's  name  .  .  .  Have  mercy  on  the  inno- 
cent creature." 

"I  promise  nothing,"  answered  the  vassal  in  a  hollow  voice 
without  stopping  from  his  work;  "we  shall  see  what's  to  be 
done." 

"He  will  kill  the  innocent  child,  Dame  Alison !"  cried  Aveline 
weeping  and  hiding  her  head. 

"Keep  still!"  replied  Mazurec  with  the  mien  of  a  tiger  that 
rendered  his  face  still  more  frightful;  "Keep  still,  or  I  may 
believe  you  are  proud  of  having  a  child  of  your  seigneur." 

Aveline  answered  with  a  hysterical  sob,  while  Alison  cried 
indignantly :  "Wretch,  you  will  yet  be  the  cause  of  your  wife's 
death!" 

"I  had  as  lief  she  was  dead  as  alive  ...  as  to  the  child 
she  now  carries  ...  he  shall  not  live  ...  I  shall 
smother  the  noble  whelp." 


164  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

"Well,  then,  why  don't  you  kill  both  mother  and  child.  That 
would  be  less  cruel  than  to  kill  Aveline  by  little  and  little  as 
you  are  doing !"  And  looking  at  Mazurec  with  eyes  of  angry 
reproach,  Alison  added:  ''Oh,  Mazurec  the  Lambkin,  the  un- 
fortunate girl  whose  death  you  now  wish,  once  made  your  heart 
bound  with  joy  when  you  passed  the  door  at  which  she  used  to 
spin !" 

At  these  words  which  recalled  to  Mazurec  the  spring-tide  of 
his  love,  days  that  were  sweet  even  to  the  wretched  serf,  the 
young  man  broke  down  in  tears,  threw  the  fork  aside,  and  close- 
ly embracing  his  wife,  whose  pale  face  he  covered  with  kisses, 
he  said :  "Pardon  me,  my  poor  Aveline !  .  .  .  Oh,  my  blood 
has  turned  to  gall  ...  I  have  suffered  so  much  .  .  . 
1  still  suffer  so  much  .  .  .  Pardon  me,  my  dear  wife !" 

Mazurec  was  uttering  these  words  when  suddenly  the  species 
of  airhole  above  the  well  was  almost  wholly  obstructed  with 
large  stones  that  were  being  rolled  about  by  the  men  of  the  bailiff 
of  Nointel,  and  the  bailiff  himself,  applying  his  mouth  as  close- 
ly as  he  could  to  the  little  opening  that  was  left,  shouted  down 
into  the  cavity :  "All  of  you,  vassals  of  the  parish  of  Cramoisy 
and  neighboring  villages,  you  are  taxed,  as  your  quota  of  the 
ransom  of  our  very  noble,  very  high,  very  dear  and  very  power- 
ful seigneur^  the  sum  of  one  thousand  florins ;  the  other  parishes 
of  the  seigniory  shall  be  similarly  taxed.  Rummage  around  your 
purses  quickly  so  that  you  meet  the  sum  demanded.  You  have 
hiding  places  where  you  bury  your  valuables.  Choose  quickly 
between  death  and  your  money.  If  within  the  time  it  shall 
take  me  to  utter  a  'pater'  *  and  an  'ave,'  **  one  of  you  does 
not  come  out  with  the  money,  you  will  all  be  smoked  to  death 
like  so  many  foxes  in  their  burrow,  after  which  the  corpses  will 
be  rifled/' 

The  bailiff  stopped;  the  air-hole  was  tightly  closed  with  clods 
of  earth ;  and  the  cavern  was  plunged  into  utter  darkness. 

"Oh,  my  God!       What's  going  to  happen?       Leave  me  not 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  165 

Mazurec,"  cried  Aveline  in  a  tremor  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  her  husband  who  jumped  up  the  better  to  hear  the 
announcement  made  by  the  bailiff,  and  which,  repeated  from 
mouth  to  mouth  by  the  vassals,  left  them  steeped  in  gloomy 
silence.  The  unhappy  serfs  clung  all  the  more  tightly  to  their 
little  coin,  their  last  resource,  the  only  fruits  left  to  them  of 
their  crushing  labors  and  homicidal  privations,  seeing  that  they 
had  suceeded  in  saving  it  from  the  rapacity  of  their  seigneurs 
only  by  dint  of  untold  privations  and  nameless  devices,  often 
struggling  against  the  torture  itself  that  was  frequently  inflicted 
upon  them  in  the  hope  of  wringing  from  them  the  disclosure 
of  the  hiding  places  where  they  kept  their  little  treasure  buried. 
The  first  shock  being  over,  cries  of  indignation  and  revolt  re- 
sounded in  the  cavern.  The  noise  increased  more  and  more. 

"We  leave  our  homes  to  live  in  holes  like  wild  beasts,  and  we 
are  hunted  down  even  here  I" 

"To  be  pillaged  by  the  English,  and  be  forced  besides  to  pay  for 
the  ransom  of  our  seigneurs !" 

"No!  No!  Let  them  choke  us  with  smoke,  let  them  burn 
us,  let  them  massacre  us  ...  They  shall  get  not  one  denier 
from  us!" 

"We  shall  throw  our  few  remaining  sous  into  the  well,  sooner 
than  deliver  them  to  our  butcher  I" 

It  did  not  take  the  bailiff  long  to  say  his  "pater"  and  "ave." 
Seeing  none  of  the  serfs  coming  out  of  the  cavern  to  bring  him 
the  sum  demanded,  he  ordered  the  burrow  of  Jacques  Bonhomme 
to  be  smoked.  The  work  was  easily  done.  The  cavern  was  en- 
tered by  a  narrow  and  steep  passage  cut  into  the  rock.  The 
Englishmen  of  Captain  Griffith  and  the  retinue  brought  by  the 


*  The  Lord's  Prayer,  called  "pater"  from  the  first  word, 
"pater"  (father)  in  the  Latin  prayer. 

**  A  prayer  or  invocation  to  Mary,  so  named  from  the  first 
word,  "Ave,  Maria,"  (Hail  to  you,  Mary),  in  the  Latin  prayer. 


166  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

bailiff  heaped  up  at  tho  mouth  of  the  entrance  a  mass  of  dry 
leaves  and  branches,  set  fire  to  the  same,  and  with  the  aid  of  their 
long  lances  shoved  on  the  brasier  a  heap  of  green  branches  the 
thick  and  acrid  smoke  of  which  soon  filled  the  interior  of  the 
cavern,  the  only  opening  that  could  have  allowed  tlie  smoke  to 
escape  having  been  tightly  closed  in  advance. 

Ghastly  was  the  scene  that  ensued.  Suffocated  and  blinded 
by  the  black  and  pungent  smoke,  the  vassals  were  a  prey  to  dis- 
tracting pain.  The  cattle,  submitted  to  the  identical  trial,  be- 
came furious,  broke  their  ropes  and  rolled  in  the  darkness  amid 
the  crowd  whom  they  trampled  under  foot  or  gored  with  their 
horns.  The  wails  of  women  and  children,  the  imprecations  of 
men,  the  lowing  of  the  cattle  made  an  infernal  concert.  Sev- 
eral of  the  serfs  succeeded  in  groping  their  way  to  the  well 
and  threw  themselves  in  to  escape  prolonged  torture;  others 
threw  themselves  headlong  towards  the  mouth  of  the  cavern, 
but  smothered  by  the  thick  smoke  and  the  flames  that  entered 
the  passage  and  that  now  converted  the  entrance  into  a  furnace, 
dropped  down  into  the  middle  of  the  flames  and  were  consumed ; 
others  again  threw  themselves  down  flat  upon  the  ground, 
scratched  the  earth  with  their  nails  and,  burying  their  faces 
in  the  earth  imagined  in  their  wild  delirium  they  could  thus 
take  breath;  lastly  not  a  few  were  the  mothers  who,  wishing  to 
spare  their  children  a  long  agony,  strangled  them  quickly  to 
death. 

Mazurec  held  Aveline  tightly  in  his  arms  while  he  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  the  horrible  death  that  awaited  her.  The 
tender  sentiments  of  their  happier  days  took  possession  of  his 
heart  and  mind  and  he  racked  his  brain  for  a  means  of  escape. 
It  was  in  vain.  Long  worn  out  by  misery  and  sorrow,  the  young 
woman  was  not  equal  to  so  rude  an  additional  strain.  In  her 
death  agony  she  fastened  her  lips  to  Mazurec's  as  though,  wishing 
to  escape  suffocation,  she  strove  to  inhale  her  husband's  breath. 

By  degrees  her  hold  on  him  was  relaxed,  with  one  convulsive 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  167 

effort  she  embraced  her  husband  and  then  her  arms  dropped  by 
her  side. 

"Dead  !"  shrieked  the  serf;  "dead  and  unavenged,  my  dearly 
beloved  Aveline'" 

"You  can  still  revenge  her  and  save  us  both  and  many  more 
of  these  unfortunates,"  came  panting  from  Alison,  who  still 
preserved  her  senses  and  energy.  "Let  us  hasten !"  continued  the 
tavern-keeper  with  an  ever  more  oppressed  voice.  "Let  us  en- 
deavor to  get  out  of  here;  ...  I  shall  give  the  bailiff 
three  hundred  florins  that  I  have  sewn  in  my  clothes ;  .  .  „ 
he  will  allow  us  to  escape;  .  .  .  if  he  does  not,  kill  him; 
.  .  .  take  your  pitch-fork;  ...  it  lies  there  .  ,,,.„, 
Let's  flee!  ..." 

Mazurec  emitted  a  cry  of  savage  joy.  The  imminence  of 
danger  and  the  hope  of  revenge  increased  his  strength  tenfold. 
He  seized  the  fork  with  his  right  hand,  with  his  left  he  dragged 
Alison  after  him,  and  guided  by  the  ruddy  glow  at  the  mouth  of 
the  cavern,  the  vassal  plied  his  fork  so  as  to  clear  a  passage 
through  the  crowd  that  ran  about  delirious.  Some  he  threw 
down,  others  he  walked  over.  Finally  he  reached  the  approaches 
of  the  burning  pile  near  which  a  number  of  corpses  lay  strewn. 
Dropping  the  hand  of  Alison  and  hitting  upon  a  plan  that  had 
occurred  to  none  during  the  general  panic,  Mazurec  thrust  his 
pitch-fork  into  the  midst  of  the  burning  pile,  scattered  it,  threw 
some  of  it  behind  him,  opened  a  passage  to  himself,  cleared 
the  space  which  was  covered  with  burning  embers,  and  after  a  few 
bounds  found  himself  at  the  issue  of  the  cavern.  For  a  moment 
Mazurec  stood  still  inhaling  the  free  air;  his  strength  returned 
speedily ;  and  making  one  last  effort  he  rushed  out.  At  the  un- 
expected sight  of  Mazurec,  foaming  at  the  mouth  with  rage  and 
brandishing  his  fork,  both  the  Englishmen  and  the  bailiff's  men 
drew  back  in  terror.  Mazurec  lost  no  time ;  he  rushed  upon  the 
bailiff,  buried  the  fork  in  the  bowels  of  his  seigneur's  menial, 
threw  him  down,  and,  maddened  with  rage,  trampled  him  under 


168  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

foot  while  he  again  and  again  thrust  his  pitch-fork  into  the 
bailiff's  breast,  his  face  and  every  part  of  his  body  that  he  could 
reach,  uttering  at  every  thrust:  "This  is  for  your  having 
dragged  Aveline  to  your  master's  bed !  .  .  .  This  is  for  your 
having  now  smothered  Aveline  to  death !" 

At  the  sight  of  the  terrific  spectacle  Captain  Griffith  broke  out 
in  a  loud  guffaw  saying:  "I  take  this  expert  poker  under  my 
protection.  I  admire  his  dexterity  in  the  use  of  his  pitch-fork  I" 
In  the  midst  of  these  exclamations  Captain  Griffith  suddenly  re- 
mained, silent,  then  clapping  his  hands  he  proceeded  in  new 
ecstacy :  "By  the  devil !  Here  are  my  two  beautiful  black  eyes 
and  plump  ankles !  Oh,  this  time  you  will  not  escape  me,  my 
belle !  Mine  be  your  treasures !" 

The  English  captain  uttered  these  cries  at  the  sight  of  Alison, 
who  now  appeared  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern,  pale,  with 
disheveled  hair,  her  clothes  half  burnt,  breathing  fast  and  so 
feeble  that  she  was  unable  to  walk  except  supporting  herself  by 
the  rocks  that  lay  near  by.  Captain  Griffith,  without  being  moved 
at  the  lamentable  aspect  of  the  woman,  and  listening  only  to  his 
own  amorous  suggestions,  made  one  bound  at  his  prey,  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  cried:  "This  time  I  hold  you!  Now  you  are 
mine  I" 

"Mercy!"  cried  Alison,  struggling  to  free  herself.  "I  shall 
give  you  all  the  money  I  have  .  .  .  Mercy !" 

"Love  first,  money  afterwards !"  was  the  answer  of  Norfolk's 
bastard  carrying  Alison  off. 

"Help,  Mazurec!  Help!"  cried  the  tavern-keeper  as  loudly 
as  her  weak  voice  allowed  her.  But  Mazurec,  exasperated  with 
suffering  and  now  drunk  with  bloodshed  and  the  transports  of 
revenge,  continued  to  hack  with  his  pitch-fork  the  corpse  of  the 
bailiff,  and  heard  not  the  appeal  of  Alison. 

Suddenly,  stepping  out  of  a  thick  bush  and  appearing  on  the 
top  of  a  rocky  eminence,  Jocelyn  the  Champion  precipitated 
himself  upon  the  ravisher,  followed  by  Adam  the  Devil,  William 


THE  IRON  TREVET,  169 

Caillet,  Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher  and  several  serfs  armed  with 
axes,  forks  and  scythes.  This  small  troop,  attracted  by  the  cries 
of  Alison,  had  rushed  forward  ahead  of  a  large  number  of  re- 
volted peasants,  who,  crossing  a  denser  part  of  the  forest,  marched 
slowlier. 

"Here  I  am,  my  charming  hostess !"  cried  Jocelyn,  leaping 
from  rock  to  rock,  sword  in  hand;  "here  I  am  .  .  .  ready 
to  defend  you !" 

"My  Hercules  of  the  castle  of  Beaumont  I"  exclaimed  Captain 
Griffith,  drawing  his  sword  at  the  sight  of  Jocelyn  whom  he 
immediately  recognized;  and  relinquishing  Alison  he  rushed, 
sword  in  hand,  at  Jocelyn,  saying:  "Only  to-day  I  requested 
but  two  things  from  Satan:  to  embrace  that  belle  and  to  find 
you  again  a  little  fattened,  my  sturdy  boy !  Let's  commence 
with  you ;  the  belle  shall  have  her  turn !" 

"I  have  not  yet  gathered  much  meat  on  my  bones/'  responded 
the  champion,  intrepidly  attacking  the  bastard  of  Norfolk,  "but 
you  shall  not  be  long  in  admitting  that  my  wrist  has  not  yet 
lost  any  of  its  strength." 

A  mad  combat  was  immediately  engaged  in  between  the 
champion  and  the  Captain,  while  Caillet,  Adam  the  Devil,  Eufin 
and  several  of  the  serfs  who  accompanied  them,  threw  them- 
selves furiously  upon  Captain  Griffith's  Chaplain  and  the  archers 
who  had  come  with  him  when  he  left  the  gross  of  his  troop  near 
the  skirt  of  the  forest,  as  the  bailiff  had  advised. 

"Kill,  kill  the  English !     .     .    ' .     Death  to  the  English !" 

Overpowered  and  crushed  by  numbers,  cut  to  pieces  with  the 
scythes,  disemboweled  with  the  forks,  knocked  down  with  the 
hatchets,  not  one  of  Captain  Griffith's  men  escaped  the  carnage. 
After  heroically  defending  himself  against  Adam  the  Devil,  who 
was  armed  with  a  short  scythe  and  against  Eufin  who  wielded 
a  long  sword,  the  Chaplain  fell  under  their  blows.  His  atten- 
tion being  now  drawn  again  from  his  frenzy  against  the  corpse 
of  the  bailiff  by  the  arrival  of  the  peasants  who  came  with 


170  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

Caillet,  Mazurec  turned  to  them  and  brandishing  his  fork  first 
joined  their  side  of  the  combat;  but  struck  with  a  sudden 
thought,  he  climbed  the  hillock  where  the  air-hole  had  been  con- 
trived over  the  cavern,  and  which  had  recently  been  closed  by 
the  orders  of  the  bailiff  of  Nointel.  With  the  assistance  of  his 
fork  he  rolled  off  the  stones  from  the  aperture,  and  the  smoke, 
now  finding  an  issue,  escaped  therefrom  in  thick  and  black  puffs. 
Climbing  down,  Mazurec  disappeared  within  the  cavern. 

At  that  moment,  though  wounded  in  the  arm,  Jocelyn  was 
holding  Captain  Griffith  to  the  ground  with  both  his  knees  press- 
ing on  the  Englishman's  chest,  and  was  looking  for  the  dagger 
at  his  belt  to  bury  it  in  his  throat  saying :  "You  shall  die,  Eng- 
lish dog,  who  do  not  respect  even  dying  women !" 

"As  true  as  you  are  the  best  blade  that  I  have  yet  met  in  this 
country,  my  only  regret  is  that  I  leave  that  belle  behind !" 

Such  were  the  last  words  of  the  bastard  of  Norfolk.  At  the 
same  moment  Mazurec  issued  from  the  cavern  with  the  corpse 
of  Aveline  in  his  arms,  saying: 

"William  Caillet,  here  is  your  daughter  and  my  wife.  All 
of  you  who  have  wives,  children,  parents  or  friends  step  into 
that  cavern.  Look  for  them  among  the  dead  and  dying.  Our 
seigneur,  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  had  us  smoked  in  our  refuge  be- 
cause we  refused  to  contribute  money  towards  his  ransom !" 

At  this  announcement  a  large  number  of  peasants  ran  into  the 
cavern,  while  Caillet  approached  Mazurec,  who  still  held  his 
wife's  body  in  his  arms,  and  calmly  said:  "Lay  her  down  on 
the  grass  .  .  .  We  shall  dig  her  grave/'  But  the  words 
were  hardly  uttered  by  the  old  man  than  throwing  himself  down 
beside  the  lifeless  body  of  his  daughter,  he  broke  out  in  convul- 
sive sobs  while  kissing  her  cold  face. 

"I  have  cried  so  much  that  I  have  no  tears  left/*  said  Ma- 
zurec contemplating  the  spectacle  with  a  dry  and  fiery  eye,  while 
Adam  the  Devil  silently  dug  Aveline's  grave  with  the  aid  of  his 
short  scythe. 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  171 

A  clump  of  roots  and  trees  had  until  now  concealed  the  sad 
spectacle  from  Jocelyn,  who,  not  having  noticed  his  brother 
in  the  heat  of  the  combat,  sat  down  on  the  grass  supported  by 
Rufin,  and  left  his  arm  to  be  attended  by  Alison.  Always 
brave  and  helpful,  despite  the  different  emotions  that  stormed 
through  her  heart,  the  tavern-keeper  had  ripped  up  her  neck- 
cloth, and  kneeling  down  beside  Jocelyn,  looked  upon  him  with 
tenderness  while  staunching  his  wound. 

"When  we  first  met,  you  won  my  case;  to-day  I  owe  to  you 
life  and  honor.  How  can  I  ever  repay  such  a  debt.  Oh,  I  know 
too  well  how  you  contemn  money  to  offer  you  three  hundred 
franks  that  I  have  sewed  in  my  skirt." 

"Do  you  wish,  dear  and  good  hostess,  to  repay  your  debt? 
Go  to  Paris.  When  you  arrive  there,  ask  where  Master  Marcel 
lives.  Everybody  will  show  you  the  place.  Tell  his  wife  that 
I  have  been  slightly  wounded  and  that  there  is  no  danger. 
That  will  assure  Dame  Marcel  and  also  her  niece  .  .  .  my 
betrothed." 

"Oh,  you  are  betrothed.  Sir !"  exclaimed  Alison  with  some  con- 
fusion, and  gulping  down  a  sigh,  she  added  in  an  unsteady 
voice:  "May  God  protect  your  love!  I  shall  do  as  you  say. 
I  shall  go  to  Paris  ...  I  shall  calm  the  anxieties  of  the 
girl  you  love.  In  her  place  I  would  be  happy,  indeed  .  .  . 
Oh,  so  happy  to  be  reassured  regarding  him  whom  I  love,"  saying 
which  Alison  lowered  her  head  to  conceal  a  furtive  tear  that 
shone  on  her  beautiful  black  eyes. 

"Oh,  Jocelyn !"  Eufin  said  in  a  low  voice,  charmed  with  the 
grace  and  kindness  of  Alison,  "  a  comely  and  honest  body  like 
that  is  worth  a  hundred  Margots." 

"Dear  hostess !"  resumed  Jocelyn  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
"Will  you  allow  me  to  give  you  advice?  In  times  like  these, 
a  woman  who  travels  alone  runs  great  dangers.  Take  this 
friend  of  mine,  Rufin,  for  your  escort." 

"Jocelyn,"  said  the  student  with  a  lively  movement,  "I  wish 
to  remain  with  you  to  fight  the  nobility." 


172  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"You  fought  bravely  despite  the  wound  that  you  received 
only  day  before  yesterday,  and  which  still  gives  you  much  pain. 
You  can  render  our  cause  a  great  service  by  returning  and 
notifying  Marcel  that  the  peasants  are  in  arms  in  this  province 
and  that  William  Caillet  has  given  the  signal  for  the  uprising. 
Marcel  awaits  this  news  to  act  ...  And  if  he  has  any 
confidential  message  for  me,  he  will  send  it  through  you.  You 
will  then  rejoin  me  in  Beauvoisis.  You  will  be  easily  able  to 
learn  the  whereabouts  of  Caillet's  troops,  which  I  shall  not 
leave";  and  seeing  that  the  student  was  about  to  yield,  Jocelyn 
added  in  a  low  voice :  "Despite  the  indiscretions  of  your  youth, 
you  are  an  upright  fellow ;  promise  me  that  you  will  guard  Ali- 
son as  you  would  your  own  sister/' 

"I  promise,  Jocelyn ;  and  you  can  trust  my  word !  I  shall  be 
a  good  guardian  to  Alison." 

Suddenly  a  tremor  ran  over  Jocetyn.  He  had  just  noticed 
Mazurec  and  Caillet  carrying  the  body  of  Aveline.  He  under- 
stood what  had  happened,  profound  sorrow  depicted  itself  upon 
his  face,  and  kneeling  down  he  said:  "Kneel,  Rufin  .  .  . 
kneel,  my  good  hostess  ...  I  shall  have  to  wait  till  after 
this  funeral  to  inform  Mazurec  that  I  am  his  brother." 

Adam  the  Devil  had  finished  digging  the  grave  of  Aveline. 
Caillet  and  Mazurec,  holding  the  body  by  the  shoulders  and  feet, 
laid  it  down  in  the  tomb.  The  peasants  who  witnessed  the  cere- 
mony fell  upon  their  knees.  The  funeral  of  the  poor  female 
serf  piously  performed  under  the  vault  of  the  forest  in  the  midst 
of  the  heaped-up  rocks  at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern — the  immense 
tomb  of  so  many  other  victims — was  a  spectacle  of  mournful 
grandeur.  Everything  contributed  to  render  the  scene  terrible 
and  imposing.  There  lay  the  mutilated  and  bloody  members  of 
the  bailiff,  the  pitiless  executer  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel's  orders; 
yonder  were  strewn  the  corpses  of  the  English,  no  less  execrated 
than  the  seigneurs  by  the  people  of  the  fields;  further  at  a  dis- 
tance was  the  kneeling  crowd  of  serfs,  bare-headed,  clad  in  rags, 


.THE  IRON  TREVET.  173 

holding  strange  and  murderous  weapons  in  their  hands,  and 
hardly  able  to  restrain  their  fury;  finally  there  were  the  father 
and  the  husband  laying  with  their  own  hands  into  her  grave 
her  who  should  have  been  the  solace  of  the  former's  old  age  and 
the  joy  and  love  of  the  latter's  youth ! 

As  soon  as  the  body  of  the  dead  girl  was  laid  in  the  fosse, 
Adam  the  Devil  began  filling  it  up  with  earth,  while  William 
Caillet  standing  at  the  head  of  his  daughter's  sepulchre  and  hold- 
ing Mazurec  to  his  breast  cried  out  in  a  voice  that  pulled  at  the 
heart-strings  of  all  present : 

"Adieu,  my  daughter !  Adieu,  my  poor  Aveline !  You  who 
aever  lied !  You  who  never  did  wrong !  Adieu !  For  evermore 
adieu!"  and  raising  his  trembling  hands  heavenward,  the  old 
peasant  proceeded  solemnly :  "I  swear  here  by  the  body  of  my 
child  whom  I  have  buried  with  my  own  hands !  By  the  bones 
of  our  friends  and  our  relatives  whose  grave  is  that  cavern !  By 
the  sufferings  that  we  endure!  By  the  blood  and  the  sweat  of 
our  forefathers !  I  shall  revenge  my  daughter !  I  shall  revenge 
our  fathers !  I  shall  revenge  our  race  for  the  tortures  it  has 
endured  !  War  upon  the  castles,  without  let  or  mercy !" 

Carried  away  by  these  words,  the  surrounding  serfs  rose  to 
their  feet,  and  brandishing  their  staves,  their  scythes,  their  forks 
and  their  axes,  all  responded  in  chorus  with  a  voice  that  the 
echoes  of  the  forest  answered  back :  "Vengeance !"  "Justice  I" 

In  the  meantime  the  peasants  who  had  run  into  the  cavern 
were  coming  back  with  terror  marked  on  their  faces:  "Dead 
.  .  .  They  are  all  dead  or  dying !  Women  and  children,  old 
and  young  ...  all  are  dead !" 

"All  dead !"  Caillet  repeated  in  a  terrific  voice,  "the  little  chil- 
dren !  The  women !  The  old  men  and  the  young !  All  dead  ! 
Up,  Jacques  Bonhomme!  Up,  my  Jacques!  Let  the  Jacquerie 
commence !" 

"It  shall  commence  with  the  castle  of  Chivry,"  cried  Adam 
the  Devil.  "Our  seigneur  is  to  be  this  very  day  at  the  castle  of 


i74  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

Chivry  to  wed  the  gorgeous  Gloriande  ...  on  the  day  of 
the  tourney  she  laughed  at  Mazurec!  ...  It  will  now  be 
your  turn  to  laugh  at  the  haughty  damosel  .  .  .  Up,  my 
Jacques,  let  the  Jacquerie  commence!" 

"Ha!  Ha!  The  belle  Gloriande!"  Mazurec  repeated  with  a 
ferocious  and  semi-delirious  laughter.  "I  shall  appear  before 
her  with  one  eye  knocked  out  and  my  nose  crushed !  Oh !  The 
gorgeous  Gloriande!  .  .  .  What  a  fright  she'll  have! 
.  .  .  Her  husband  took  my  bride  .  .  .  Up,  up,  my 
Jacques !  The  Jacquerie  commences !  .  .  .  War  upon  the 
castles !" 

The  revolted  peasants  tumultuously  followed  Caillet,  Adam  the 
Devil  and  Mazurec  across  the  forest  crying:  "To  Chivry 
.  .  .  Up,  Jacques  .  .  .  The  Jacquerie  commences!" 

"Good-bye,  hostess!"  said  Jocelyn  rising  and  preparing  to 
follow  Mazurec.  "Good-bye,  Eufin.  Guard  with  the  solicitude  of 
a  brother  this  worthy  woman  who  confides  herself  to  your  pro- 
tection." 

"I  trust  your  friend,"  answered  Alison,  "because  you  told  me 
to  trust  him." 

"I  swear,"  put  in  the  student  deeply  moved,  "that  you  can 
trust  me  as  fully  as  you  would  Jocelyn  himself,  pretty  hostess." 

"Good-bye,  Eufin ;  I  shall  join  my  brother,  disclose  to  him  the 
bonds  that  unite  us,  and  battle  at  his  side.  Once  more,  good- 
bye, Alison.  Say  to  Dame  Marcel  and  to  Denise,  my  betrothed, 
that  if  I  do  not  see  them  again,  my  last  thoughts  will  have  been 
to  them.  As  to  you,  Eufin,  say  to  Marcel  that  the  peasants  of 
this  province  are  at  work  exterminating  the  seigneurs." 

"Good-bye,  Jocelyn,"  Eufin  answered  sadly,  extending  his 
hand  to  his  friend.  "If  Master  Marcel  should  have  any  message 
for  you  I  shall  ask  him  to  commission  me  to  bring  it  to  you !" 

Once  more  the  champion  pressed  his  friend's  hand  and  has- 
tened to  join  the  Jacques  whose  vociferations  were  heard  in  the 
distance.  Before  following  the  student,  the  good  Alison  knelt 
down  at  the  grave  of  Aveline  and  amidst  tears  bade  the  last  adieu 
to  the  ill-starred  young  woman. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  CASTLE  OF  CHIVRY. 

The  castle  of  Chivry,  situated  about  three  leagues  from  Noin- 
tel,  and  like  almost  all  other  feudal  manors,  built  on  the  brow 
of  a  precipitous  mountain,  has  nothing  to  fear  from  an  attack 
from  without.  Defended  both  by  a  hundred  men-at-arms  and 
its  own  natural  position,  it  can  resist  a  long  siege.  For  such  an 
attack,  artillery  and  other  engines  of  war  would  have  been 
requisite.  The  interior  magnificence  of  this  seigniorial  edifice 
matches  its  defensive  strength.  Among  its  many  sumptuous 
features  is  the  throne  hall,  or  hall  of  honor,  which  presents  a 
dazzling  sight.  Its  rafters,  painted  and  gilded,  glisten  under  the 
blue  of  the  ceiling.  Rich  hanging  carpets  cover  the  walls,  and 
enormous  fire-places  of  sculptured  stone,  where  whole  trunks  of 
trees  are  burned,  rise  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  vast  apart- 
ment which  is  lighted  by  ten  ogive  windows  of  glass  bearing 
armorial  designs.  The  hall,  virtually  a  gallery,  is  two  hundred 
feet  long,  by  one  hundred  wide — vast  dimensions,  indispensible 
to  the  state  ceremonies  which  the  stewards  of  the  Sire  of 
Chivry,  as  is  the  custom,  attend  mounted  on  horseback,  enter- 
ing by  one  of  the  doors  of  the  hall,  and  solemnly  carrying  on 
the  silver  platters  the  "dishes  of  honor"  such  as  peacocks  and 
roasted  pheasants,  prepared  with  their  own  heads,  and  out- 
spread tails  and  wings,  or  gigantic  pastries  representing  the 
seigniorial  manor,  ornamented  with  an  escutcheon  painted  in 
lively  colors — a  glorious  dish  that  the  pages  place  on  the  table 
before  the  queen  of  the  feast,  and  that  must  be  cut  by  the 
equerry. 

On  this  day,  a  brilliant  company — the  nobles,  seigneurs  and 
dames,  damosels  and  children  of  the  neighboring  estates — assem- 


176  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

bled  in  the  throne  hall  of  the  castle  of  Chivry,  and  pressed 
around  the  beautiful  Gloriande,  who  sat  triumphant  on  the 
throne — a  sort  of  raised  seat  covered  and  canopied  with  gold 
brocades.  Never  did  the  damosel  seem  more  superb  and  bril- 
liant in  the  eyes  of  her  admirers.  Her  attire  was  dazzling.  Her 
black  hair,  braided  with  a  thread  of  pearls  and  carbuncles,  is 
half  hid  under  her  virginal  bride's  veil.  Her  robe  of  white  velvet, 
embroidered  with  silver,  boldly  exposes  her  breast  and  plump 
arms.  A  scarf  of  Oriental  silk,  fringed  with  pearls,  girds  her 
supple  and  well-shaped  waist.  With  brilliant  eyes,  pink  cheeks 
and  smiling  lips,  Gloriande  receives  the  compliments  of  the 
noble  assemblage  who  congratulate  her  on  her  wedding,  the  cele- 
bration of  which  is  soon  to  be  announced  by  the  bell  of  the 
castle's  chapel.  The  aged  Count  of  Chivey  enjoys  the  happiness 
of  his  daughter  and  the  homage  she  is  the  recipient  of.  Never- 
theless, despite  the  gladness  denoted  by  her  face,  from  time  to 
time  Gloriande  puckers  up  her  black  eyebrows,  while  throwing 
impatient  looks  towards  the  doors  of  the  gallery.  Noticing  one 
of  these  looks  of  impatience,  the  Count  of  Chivry  says  to  his 
daughter  smiling:  "Be  at  ease  .  .  .  Conrad  will  soon  be 
here  .  .  .  There  he  is  .  .  .  Behold  your  bridegroom ! 
What  a  noble  presence !" 

At  the  moment  when  the  noble  seigneur  was  saying  these 
words  a  triumphant  procession  entered  the  spacious  hall.  Clar- 
ion players  opened  the  march  with  a  bravoure,  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  pages  bearing  the  livery  of  Nointel  who  in  turn 
were  followed  by  the  seigneur's  equerries.  These  led  ten  hideous 
looking  men  in  chains.  Their  faces  and  skulls,  smoothly  shaven, 
are  of  dark  brown  color.  Sad  and  dejected,  they  hold  their 
heads  down.  They  are  clad  in  new  white  and  green  blouses, 
the  armorial  colors  of  the  house  of  Chivry.  From  time  to  time 
the  captives  noisily  clank  their  chains  and  emit  lamentable  moan- 
ings.  Behind  them  marches  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  superbly 
astride  of  a  charger,  with  visor  down,  lance  in  hand  and  ac- 
coutred in  battle  armor.  At  his  side  but  on  foot  marches  Gerard 
of  Chaumontel,  also  in  full  armor  and  seeming  to  share  his 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  177 

friend's  glory.  The  cheers  of  the  noble  assemblage  greet  the 
procession,  and  the  radiant  Gloriande,  whose  cheeks  are  now 
red  with  pride,  rises  from  her  seat  and  waving  her  handkerchief 
cries : 

"Glory  to  the  victor !    Honor  to  the  bravest  gallant  I" 

"Glory  to  the  victor!"  is  echoed  back  by  the  noble  assem- 
blage. "Honor  to  the  bravest  gallant !  Long  live  the  seigneur 
of  Nointel !" 

The  Sire  of  Nointel  descends  from  his  horse,  raises  the  visor 
of  his  casque  and  while  his  equerries  beckon  the  captives  to  kneel 
down,  he  delivers  himself  of  the  following  sentence: 

"My  lady-love  ordered  me  to  go  to  war  against  the  English 
and  to  bring  ten  prisoners  to  her  feet.  The  duty  of  all  gallant 
knights  is  to  obey  the  queen  of  their  thoughts.  Here  are  the  ten 
English  soldiers  that  I  took  at  the  battle  that  we  have  fought. 
And  I,  a  captive  of  the  god  of  love,  now  lead  these  chained  men 
to  the  feet  of  my  lady-love." 

These  chivalrous  and  gallant  words  threw  the  assemblage  into 
transports  of  enthusiasm.  The  Sire  of  Nointel  bows  his  head 
and  proceeds : 

"These  prisoners  belong  to  my  lady-love.  Let  her  dispose  of 
them  at  her  sovereign  will." 

"Seeing  that  my  valiant  knight  requests  me  to  decide  over 
the  fate  of  these  prisoners,"  answered  Gloriande,  "I  order  that 
they  be  delivered  of  their  chains  .  .  .  and  that  they  be  set 
free !  The  day  of  my  marriage  shall  be  a  day  of  joy  for  all" ; 
and  extending  her  hand  to  Conrad  who  drops  on  one  knee  before 
his  bride,  she  proceeds :  "Here  is  my  hand,  Sire  of  Nointel.  I 
can  give  it  to  no  more  valorous  a  knight." 

"Happy  day  to  the  wedded  couple!"  cries  the  assemblage. 
"Glory  and  happiness  to  Gloriande  of  Chivry  and  Conrad  of 
Nointel !" 

While  the  brilliant  company  was  thus  manifesting  its  share 
in  the  gladness  of  the  young  couple,  the  Count  of  Chivry  ap- 


i?8  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

preached  the  knight  of  Chaumontel  and  asked  him  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Gerard,  what  devil  of  Englishmen  are  these  fellows  .  .  . 
Why,  they  are  dark  as  moles!" 

"Sir  Count,"  gravely  answered  the  knight,  "these  scamps 
are  of  the  English  tribe  of  Ratamorphrydich  !" 

"How  do  you  call  that  tribe?"  again  inquired  the  aged  seig- 
neur stupefied  at  the  barbarous  name;  "I  never  heard  of  it  be- 
fore." 

"The  Ratamorphrydich,"  explained  the  knight,  "are  one  of 
the  most  ferocious  tribes  of  northern  England.  They  are  sup- 
posed to  descend  from  a  gypsy  or  Syrian  colony  that  migrated 
from  Moscovy  to  the  shores  of  Albion  upon  the  back  of  marine 
horses." 

"Well!  Well!"  rejoined  the  aged  count  enraptured  at  the 
geographic  knowledge  of  the  knight.  "That  is  a  very  com- 
plete and  clear  explanation." 

The  bell  of  the  castle's  chapel  now  sounded,  and  the  seigneur 
of  Chivry  said  to  the  knight:  "This  is  the  first  peal  of  the 
wedding  mass.  Oh,  Gerard,  this  is  a  beautiful  day  for  my  old 
years  .  .  .  doubly  beautiful  because  it  shines  in  otherwise 
sad  times." 

"But  it  seems,  Sire,  that  you  have  no  cause  to  complain 
of  the  events.  Conrad  returns  to  you  covered  with  laurel. 
True  enough,  he  is  a  paroled  prisoner  of  the  English,  but  at 
this  very  moment  his  vassals  are  emptying  their  purses  for 
his  ransom.  He  is  beloved  by  your  daughter,  whom  he  adores. 
Your  castle,  well  fortified  and  provisioned,  and  defended  by 
a  courageous  garrison,  has  nothing  to  fear  from  either  the 
English  or  the  marauding  bands.  Jacques  Bonhomme,  still 
sore  at  every  limb  from  the  lesson  he  received  last  year  at  the 
tourney  of  Nointel,  dare  not  raise  his  nose  above  the  ditches 
where  he  is  at  work  for  you.  You  may  live  in  peace  and  shrdl 
where  he  is  at  work  for  you.  You  may  live  in  peace  and 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  179 

contentment.  Long  live  love,  and  let  the  future  take  care  of 
itself !" 

"Father,"  said  Gloriande  to  the  Count  of  Chivry,  "the  bell 
has  sounded  the  second  call  for  mass  .  .  .  Let  us  start." 

"Very  well,  my  impatient  bride,"  the  Count  replied  smiling 
upon  his  daughter,  "give  your  hand  to  Conrad  and  we  shall  start 
for  the  altar." 

"Oh,  father,  do  you  know  that  Conrad  spoke  of  me  to  the 
Kegent,  our  Sire?  The  young  and  lovely  prince  wishes  to  see 
me  at  court  .  .  .  We  shall  have  time  to  order  three  dresses, 
one  of  brocade,  the  other  of  silver.  .  .  the  third  lamina- 
ted in  flower  work." 

"You  may  order  ten  dresses,  twenty  if  you  wish,  and  of  the 
richest.  Nothing  is  too  beautiful  for  Gloriande  of  Chivry  when 
she  makes  her  appearance  at  court!  It  is  well  to  show  those 
kings,  who  seek  to  crowd  the  seigneurs,  that  we  are  as  great 
seigneurs  as  themselves.  You  shall  not  lack  for  money.  My 
bailiffs  shall  levy  a  double  tax  upon  my  vassals  in  honor  of  your 
wedding,  as  is  customary.  But  here  comes  another  impatient 
hot-blood  who  implores  you  to  take  pity  on  his  martyrdom," 
gaily  added  the  Count  pointing  at  Conrad  who  now  approached. 
The  Sire  of  Nointel  lovingly  took  the  hand  of  his  bride,  the 
procession  formed  and,  followed  by  the  pages  and  equerries,  the 
noble  assembly  marched  to  the  chapel  of  the  manor. 

The  English  prisoners,  who  had  been  freed  of  their  chains 
by  the  order  of  Gloriande,  brought  up  the  rear.  While  cross- 
ing the  threshold  of  the  gallery  a  large  newly  sharpened  knife 
with  a  coarse  wooden  handle  dropped  from  the  blouse  of  one 
of  the  prisoners. 

"Adam  the  Devil,"  whispered  another  prisoner,  "pick  up  your 
knife  before  it  attracts  the  attention  of  the  soldiers." 


CHAPTER  IV. 
"JACQUERIE !  JACQUERIE !" 

The  marriage  of  the  damosel  of  Chivry  with  the  seigneur  of 
Nointel  took  place  in  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon,  the  large 
number  of  guests  invited  to  the  brilliant  wedding  were  gathered 
in  the  large  throne  hall,  now  transformed  into  a  banquet  room. 
The  banquet  was  continued  deep  into  the  evening,  and  was  now 
nearing  its  end.  For  the  last  six  hours  the  noble  guests  had  been 
doing  ample  honor  to  the  interminable  meal.  While  Jacques 
Bonhomme  barely  preserves  existence  with  decayed  beans  and 
water,  the  seigneurs  eat  fit  to  split  their  stomachs.  It  was  so 
at  the  nuptials  of  the  belle  Gloriande.  The  first  course,  intended 
to  open  the  appetite,  consisted  of  citrons,  fruit  cooked  in  vinegar, 
sour  cherries,  salted  dishes,  salads  and  other  toothsome  prepara- 
tions. The  second  course  was  of  lobster  patties,  cream  almonds, 
soups  of  meat,  of  rice,  of  oats,  of  wheat,  of  macaroni,  of  frican- 
delles,  each  served  in  the  different  colors  that  expert  cooks  impart 
to  them  and  that  please  the  eyes  of  the  gourmands — soups  in 
white,  in  blue,  in  yellow,  in  red,  in  green  or  of  golden  hue  were 
spread  in  harmonious  combinations.  The  third  course  had  roasts 
with  sauce,  and  what  a  variety  of  sauces ! — cinnamon,  nutmeg, 
raisin,  jennet,  rose,  flower — all  these  sauces  likewise  colored  dif- 
ferently. The  fourth  course  consisted  of  pastries  of  all  sorts,  of 
boars,  of  deer,  monstrous  pastries  that  held,  floating  on  goose  fat, 
a  whole  stuffed  lamb,  finally  tarts  of  rose  leaves,  of  cherries,  of 
chestnuts,  and  in  the  middle  of  all  these  a  monumental  fabric 
of  pastry  three  feet  high,  representing  the  donjon-keep,  the  tow- 
ers and  the  ramparts  of  the  noble  manor  of  Chivry.  The  long 
table  loaded  down  with  costly  plate  which  reflected  one  another 


THE   IRON   TREFET.  181 

by  the  light  of  wax  candles  presented  the  aspect  of  gladsome  dis- 
order. The  flagons  and  silver  decanters,  filled  with  spiced  wines 
and  circulating  from  hand  to  hand,  redoubled  the  conviviality 
of  the  hour.  Some  of  the  guests  grew  unsteady  in  their  seats, 
their  heads  swimming  in  the  fumes  of  approaching  drunkenness. 
The  cheeks  and  eyes  of  several  of  the  dames  and  their  daughters, 
even  without  having  celebrated  Gloriande's  nuptials  to  a  Bacchic 
excess,  had  become  purple  and  inflamed;  their  breasts  heaved, 
and  they  laughed  boisterously  at  the  licentious  stories  told  by 
the  seigneurs  who  sat  near  and  drank  out  of  the  same  cup  with 
them.  Outside  of  the  banquet  table,  the  servants,  and  even  the 
men-at-arms,  were  sharing  the  convivial  joys  of  their  masters,  and 
celebrated  the  nuptials  of  their  seigneur's  daughter  with  deep 
potations  of  beer,  cider,  and  even  wine.  Many  were  asleep  in  the 
profound  slumbers  of  inebriety. 

Alone  Gloriande  and  her  bridegroom  have  remained  free  from 
the  effects  of  the  overfeeding  and  drinking.  Their  intoxication 
is  sweeter.  They  love  each  other,  and  soon  the  hour  would  come 
for  their  retirement.  From  time  to  time  they  exchanged  furtive 
glances  of  impatience.  Ardent  are  the  looks  of  Conrad ;  troubled 
those  of  Gloriande.  Her  beautiful  bosom  undulates  attractively 
the  necklace  of  pearls  and  diamonds  that  rests  upon  it.  She  even 
frowns  and  shrugs  her  white  shoulders  upon  hearing  her  father, 
now  in  an  advanced  stage  of  intoxication,  bellowing  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  for  silence  and  announcing  that  he  would  sing  an 
old  drinking  song  of  twenty-eight  verses,  and  each  couple,  drink- 
ing from  the  same  goblet,  was  to  empty  it  at  each  couplet,  after 
which  the  bride  and  bridegroom  would  be  ceremoniously  con- 
ducted by  her  maids  of  honor  to  the  bridal  chamber,  whose  door 
opened  into  the  hall.  At  her  father's  proposition  to  sing  twenty- 
eight  verses,  a  proposition  that  was  received  with  general  ac- 
claim, Gloriande  cast  a  desolate  look  upon  Conrad,  and  the  latter, 
turning  to  his  friend  Chaumontel,  whispered  in  his  ear:  "The 
devil  take  the  drunken  old  man  .  .  .  along  with  his  song." 


ife  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"By  the  way,"  answered  the  half  intoxicated  knight,  laughing 
loudty,  "the  old  man  asked  me  this  morning  how  our  English 
prisoners  happened  to  be  dark  as  moles ;"  and  turning  from  the 
Count  of  Chivry  the  knight  reflected  a  moment  and  then  pro- 
ceeded: "But,  Conrad,  were  there  not  originally  eleven  rustics 
instead  of  ten  that  we  picked  up  near  the  forest,  from  which  they 
had  just  issued  with  forks,  scythes  and  axes?  They  said  they 
were  hunting  for  a  wolf  that  caused  them  much  damage.  Ah! 
Ah!  I  must  still  laugh  when  I  think  of  our  capture  .  .  . 
By  the  devil  ...  It  was  eleven  and  not  ten  rustics  that 
we  caught.  .  .  .  How  does  it  come  that,  being  eleven,  there 
should  only  be  ten  now  ?" 

"Do  you  forget  that  one  of  them  ran  away  on  the  road  ?" 
"That's  a  ray  of  light !"  cried  Gerard,  counting  on  his  fingers 
with  the  gravity  of  a  drunken  man.  "The  rustics  were  eleven. 
Good.  .  .  .  One  of  them  escapes.  .  .  .  Consequently 
there  should  be  only  ten  left !  Conrad,  you  are  the  brightest  of 
mortals !" 

At  that  moment  the  seigneur  of  Chivry  struck  up  the  fourth 
couplet  of  his  Bacchic  song.  No  longer  could  the  beautiful  Glor- 
iande  endure  her  armorous  martyrdom.  She  exchanged  a  few  signs 
of  intelligence  with  Conrad,  and  almost  immediately  uttered  a 
slight  cry,  while  seizing  her  father's  arm,  near  whom  she  was  seat- 
ed. The  old  seigneur  abruptly  broke  off  his  song  and  said  to  Glor- 
iande,  in  blank  amazement : 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear  daughter  ?    Are  you  not  well  ?" 
"I  feel  giddy ;  I  am  not  well ;  I  shall  withdraw  to  my  room." 
"My  dearly  beloved  Gloriande,"  said  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  ris- 
ing quickly,  "allow  me  to  accompany  you." 

"Yes,  I  wish  you  would,  Conrad.  ...  I  shall  take  some 
air  at  the  window  of  my  room.  ...  I  think  that  will  do 
me  good." 

"Come,  my  children,"  said  the  seigneur  of  Chivry,  resignedly, 
"I  shall  start  my  song  all  over  again  at  to-morrow's  feast ;"  and 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  183 

then  added :  "Let  the  maids  of  honor  kindly  accompany  the  bride, 
according  to  custom,  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  nuptial  chamber." 
At  these  words  several  of  the  young  ladies  regretfully  quitted 
the  knights  near  whom  they  sat  and  surrounded  the  bride,  while 
Conrad  walked  around  the  immense  table  to  join  his  wife,  an'd 
two  pages  threw  open  the  doors  of  the  bridal  chamber,  brilliantly 
lighted  by  torches  of  perfumed  wax.  The  nuptial  couch  was  seen 
at  the  end  of  the  chamber,  surmounted  with  an  armorial  canopy, 
and  half  concealed  behind  curtains  of .  tapestry  that  glistened 
with  silver  thread.  Suddenly  the  voice  of  Gerard  of  Chaumontel, 
more  and  more  intoxicated,  was  heard  crying : 

"Noble  dames  and  damosels,  I  request  leave  to  prove  fo  you 
that  I  am  a  man  ...  of  singular  powers  of  divination !" 

"Prove  it !  Prove  it !"  gayly  came  from  the  guests.  "Prove 
it  to  us,  to-night !  We  listen !  Give  us  the  proof !" 

"Last  year,"  proceeded  Gerard,  "on  the  day  of  the  tourney  of 
Nointel,  where  all  of  you  were  present,  and  where  Jacques  Bon- 
homme  kicked  some  capers,  Conrad  ordered  several  of  the  scamps 
to  be  hanged,  and  to  drown  the  one  whom  I  vanquished  "in  a 
judicial  combat,  all  according  to  usage  and  custom." 

"I  very  much  would  like  to  see  a  villein  drown,"  cried  a  lad 
of  eleven  years,  son  of  the  Sire  of  Bourgeuil.  "I  have  seen  vil- 
leins whipped,  I  have  seen  their  ears  cropped,  I  have  seen  them 
hanged  and  quartered,  but  never  have  I  seen  any  drowned. 
Father,  .  .  .  will  you  not  have  a  villein  drowned  .  .  . 
for  me  to  see?  .  .  .  I  would  like  to  see  a  villein  drowned. 
.  .  .  I  have  taken  the  fancy." 

"My  son/'  the  Sire  of  Bourgeuil  answered  the  child  in  a  magis- 
terial tone,  "your  interruption  is  unbecoming.  You  should  have 
waited  till  the  knight  finished  before  expressing  your  wish  to  me." 

"Well,"  continued  Gerard  of  Chaumontel,  "the  rustic  whom  I 
vanquished,  at  the  moment  of  taking  his  first  and  last  bath,  cried 
out  to  me  with  the  voice  of  a  devil  who  has  caught  cold :  'You 


184  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

cause  me  to  be  drowned,  you  shall  be  drowned !'  and  to  Conrad : 
'You  outraged  my  wife,  your  wife  shall  be  outraged !' " 

"The  knight  of  Chaumontel  is  tipsy,"  murmured  several 
guests. 

"Such  lugubrious  stories  about  hanging  and  drowning  are  out 
of  place  at  a  wedding." 

"Enough,  Sir  knight !     Enough !" 

"Drink  your  wine  in  peace,  good  Sir !" 

"Wait  till  I  prove  it  to  you  .  .  .  how  I  am  a  man  of 
singular  powers  of  divination,"  continued  Gerard.  But  the 
hisses  drowned  his  voice,  and  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  shivering  de- 
spite himself  at  the  mournful  recollection  now  evoked  by  his 
friend,  took  the  hand  of  Gloriande  whom  the  maids  of  honor  sur- 
rounded and  said  to  her  while  marching  towards  the  nuptial 
chamber:  "Listen  not  to  the  fool;  he  is  tipsy  .  .  .  Come, 
my  beloved  .  .  .  Love  awaits  us." 

Suddenly  an  equerry  appeared  like  a  specter  at  the  large  door 
of  the  hall.  His  face  was  livid  and  his  body  streamed  blood. 
He  took  two  steps  forward,  swayed  on  his  feet  and  dropped 
down  upon  the  stone  slabs  which  he  reddened  with  his  blood. 
With  his  last  dying  breath  he  uttered  these  words  "My  seigneur 
.  .  .  Oh,  my  seigneur  .  .  .  Save  yourself!" 

At  the  spectacle  a  cry  of  horror  and  fear  leaped  from  every 
mouth.  The  belle  Gloriande,  seized  with  terror,  threw  herself 
into  Conrad's  arms.  The  guests,  pale  and  stupefied,  were  for 
an  instant  struck  silent,  while  from  the  distance  a  formidable 
noise  seemed  to  approach.  Another  equerry,  also  pale  as  a 
ghost  and  bleeding,  ran  in  screaming  in  a  broken  voice : 

"Treason!  .  .  .  Treason!  .  .  .  The  English  pris- 
oners have  cut  the  throats  of  the  guards  at  the  main  gate  of  the 
castle  .  .  .  They  opened  it  to  a  furious  multitude  .  .  . 
The  assailants  are  here !" 

Immediately  the  cry  of  "Jacquerie!    Jacquerie!"   repeated 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  185 

from  hundreds  of  throats,  resounded  outside  the  banquet  hall, 
and  the  glasses  of  the  windows,  beaten  in  with  axes  and  pitch- 
forks, flew  in  all  directions  with  a  wild  rush. 

A  numerous  band  of  Jacques,  led  by  Adam  the  Devil  and  his 
blackened  companions  who  had  performed  the  role  of  English 
prisoners  in  that  same  hall  that  same  morning,  now  rushed  in 
through  the  doors  and  broken  windows.  Guided  by  an  identical 
impulse,  the  terror-stricken  noble  assemblage  crowded  towards 
the  principal  door  expecting  to  escape  at  that  issue.  Their 
exit  was,  however,  intercepted  by  William  Caillet  and  Mazurec, 
who  appeared  at  the  threshold  at  the  head  of  still  another  band 
of  Jacques  armed  with  staves,  scythes,  forks  and  axes.  Almost 
all  these  peasants  in  arms  were  vassals  of  the  seigneurs  of  Chivry 
and  Nointel.  At  the  sight  of  the  wan,  savage,  blood-stained, 
half-naked  mob,  bearing  on  their  bodies  the  impress  of  serf- 
dom, the  dames  and  damosels  uttered  cries  of  terror  and  huddled 
together  in  wild  panic  into  the  extreme  corner  of  the  hall.  The 
seigneurs,  having  according  to  usage  doffed  their  armor  to  don 
their  gala  dress,  seized  the  table  knives  and  the  flagons  of  glass 
and  silver  to  defend  themselves.  The  joyous  fumes  of  wine 
that  at  first  confused  their  minds  were  soon  dissipated  and  they 
ranked  themselves  into  an  improvised  barrier  before  the  women. 

William  Caillet  swung  his  axe  three  times.  At  that  signal 
the  tumultuous  clamors  of  the  Jacques  was  hushed  by  little  and 
little  until  the  silence  became  profound,  disturbed  only  by  ex- 
clamations and  moans  from  the  affrighted  noble  women. 

"My  Jacques!"  cries  Caillet.  "You  brought  ropes  along. 
First  of  all  bind  fast  all  the  noblemen;  kill  on  the  spot  who- 
ever resists;  but  keep  alive  the  father  and  the  husband  of  the 
bride ;  also  to  keep  alive  the  knight  of  Chaumontel.  We  have  an 
account  to  settle  with  them." 

"I  shall  take  charge  of  those  three,"  said  Adam  the  Devil. 
"Follow  me,  my  alleged  Englishmen.  Get  the  ropes  ready." 

The  vassals  flew  upon  the  seigneurs.     A  few  of  them  offered 


186  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

a  desperate  resistance  and  were  killed,  but  the  larger  number 
of  the  knights,  demoralized  and  terror-stricken  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  attack  allowed  themselves  to  be  bound.  Among 
these  were  the  aged  seigneur  of  Chivry,  Gerard  of  Chaumontel 
and  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  the  last  of  whom  was  torn  from  the 
arms  of  his  bride.  More  furious  than  frightened,  Gloriande 
gave  a  loose  to  imprecations  and  insults  that  she  hurled  at  the 
revolted  serfs.  Adam  the  Devil  seized  and  overpowered  her, 
tearing  in  the  attempt  her  wedding  dress  to  shreds,  and  tied 
her  hands  behind  her  back,  while  with  refined  ferocity  he  ob- 
served : 

"To  each  his  turn,  my  noble  damosel  .  .  .  Last  year  you 
laughed  at  us  at  the  tourney  of  Nointel  .  .  .  Now  it  is  our 
turn  to  laugh  at  you,  my  amorous  belle !" 

"This  English  prisoner  knows  me !"  exclaimed  Gloriande.  "Is 
all  this  but  a  horrible  dream  ?  Conrad,  revenge  your  wife !" 

"I  am  a  vassal  of  the  seigniory  of  Nointel,  and  not  an  Eng- 
lishman, my  belle,"  answered  Adam  the  Devil.  "The  role  of 
prisoner  was  imposed  upon  us  by  your  noble  husband,  your 
valiant  knight,  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  too  much  of  a  coward  to 
make  real  prisoners.  He  met  us  just  outside  of  the  forest  and 
ordered  us  under  pain  of  hanging  to  accompany  him  hither 
and  be  the  accomplices  of  his  trick  upon  you  by  figuring  as  the 
English  prisoners  that  he  was  to  lead  to  you  from  the  battle  that 
was  fought.  We  consented  to  the  masquerade.  It  helped  us 
in  our  plan  to  enter  your  father's  castle.  One  of  us,  managing 
to  escape  on  the  road,  took  to  our  companions  the  order  to 
draw  near  the  manor  by  nightfall.  We  cut  the  throats  of  the 
guards,  lowered  the  bridge  and  let  our  Jacques  in.  Now  we 
are  going  to  laugh  at  you,  my  belle  .  .  .  just  as  you  laughed 
at  us  at  the  tourney  of  Nointel !  It  is  now  our  turn  to  feast." 

Gloriande  allowed  Adam  the  Devil  to  speak  without  inter- 
rupting him.  And  shuddering  with  painful  indignation  she 
cried:  "Conrad  lied  Conrad  is  a  coward!" 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  187 

"Yes,  your  nobleman  of  a  husband  is  a  liar  and  a  coward," 
rejoined  Adam  the  Devil,  dragging  Gloriande  towards  the  other 
extremity  of  the  hall.  "A  beauty  like  you  deserves  a  braver 
husband.  I  shall  take  you  to  the  kind  of  lover  you  have  been 
dreaming  of." 

Gloriande  of  Chivry  forgot  for  a  moment  the  dangers  that 
beset  her  and  the  terror  that  had  begun  to  seize  her  mind.  Over- 
whelmed by  the  idea,  horrible  to  her  pride,  that  Conrad  of  Noin- 
tel  was  a  coward,  she  let  herself  be  dragged  without  resistance 
towards  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 

In  the  center  of  the  Jacques  who  had  formed  a  circle  stood 
William  Caillet  reclining  on  the  handle  of  his  heavy  axe;  near 
him  were  Jocelyn  the  Champion  with  his  arms  across  his  breast, 
and  Mazurec  the  Lambkin,  now  the  widower  of  Aveline-who- 
never-lied.  Only  partly  clad  in  rough  sheep-skin,  his  hair  mat- 
ted, his  arms  bare  and  blood-bespattered,  with  the  cavity  of  one 
eye  hollow,  his  nose  crushed,  his  upper  lip  split — the  serf  pre- 
sented a  repulsive  aspect.  Adam  the  Devil  pushed  Gloriande 
towards  Mazurec  saying :  "There  is  your  new  husband !  Come, 
my  pretty  lass,  embrace  your  lord  and  master !" 

At  the  sight  of  the  disfigured  serf  Gloriande  drew  back  and 
uttered  a  cry  of  fright;  but  terror  palsied  her  brain  when  she 
saw  Mazurec  slowly  advancing  upon  her  with  his  one  eye  burning 
with  hatred,  and  laying  his  callous  hand  upon  her  shoulder  say 
in  a  hollow  voice:  "In  the  name  of  force  .  .  .  you  are 
mine  .  .  .  the  same  as  in  the  name  of  force  my  bride  Ave- 
line  belonged  to  Conrad  of  Nointel  .  .  . 

"What  is  the  monster  saying?"  muttered  the  distracted  Glor- 
iande drawing  back  and  seeking  to  free  herself  from  the  grasp 
of  the  vassal.  "Father !  .  .  .  Come  to  my  help,  father !" 

The  noble  seigneur  of  Chivry  lay  nearby  bound  hand  and  foot, 
the  same  as  Gerard  of  Chaumontel  and  Conrad  of  Nointel,  the 
last  of  whom,  out  of  his  senses  with  fright  and  crushed  with 


188  THE  IRON   T REVET. 

remorse,  neither  heard  nor  saw  aught,  but  was  muttering  be- 
tween his  teeth :  "Have  mercy  upon  me,  my  Lord  God !  .  .  . 
I  am  a  great  sinner  ...  .1  repent  having  outraged  that  vas- 
sal's bride  ..." 

"Help,  father!"  Gloriande  continued  to  cry,  ever  seeking  to 
escape  the  grip  of  Mazurec,  whose  nails,  now  long  and  bent 
like  those  of  a  bird  of  prey,  dug  deep  into  the  flesh  of  the  Sire 
of  Nointel's  bride  and  held  her  firmly  while  he  exclaimed: 
"This  noble  damosel  is  mine!" 

"Vassal!"  cried  the  seigneur  of  Chivry  gasping  for  breath 
and  addressing  Caillet:  "You  are  the  chief  of  these  bandits; 
save  my  daughter's  life  and  honor  and  I  promise  to  pardon 
you  ...  Be  merciful  ...  I  swear  by  the  living  God, 
I  shall  remit  the  punishment  that  your  crimes  deserve !" 

"Noble  seigneur,"  replied  the  chief  of  the  Jacques  with 
ominously  sinister  calmness,  "the  wedding  day  of  the  child  whom 
we  love  is  a  beautiful  day!  It  is  a  beautiful  day  for  the 
nobles — " 

"Oh,  indeed  I  believed  this  morning  that  the  wedding  day 
of  my  daughter  Gloriande  would  be  a  beautiful  day  for  me." 

"So  did  I  imagine  on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  my  daugh- 
ter Aveline-who-never-lied  wedded  ...  A  vassal  has  a 
father's  heart  ...  I  tenderly  loved  my  daughter  .  .  . 
She  was  a  sweet  and  pure  girl,  the  pride  of  my  miserable  life 
.  .  .  Your  son-in-law,  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  had  my  daugh- 
ter dragged  to  his  bed  .  .  .  the  next  day  he  returned  her  to 
me!" 

"The  Sire  of  Nointel  only  exercised  the  right  he  has  over 
all  brides  who  are  not  noble!  .  .  .  It  is  his  right  of  first 
fruits  .  .  .  It  is  the  feudal  law !" 

"Conrad  of  Nointel  exercised  a  right  that  he  derived  from 
force  .  .  .  To-day  the  Jacques  are  stronger,  and  they  will, 
in  turn,  exercise  their  right,"  answered  Caillet  without  abandon- 


THE  IRON   T REVET.  189 

ing  his  savage  calmness.  "Mazurec,  my  daughter's  bridegroom 
sought  to  resist  the  ignomy  she  was  threatened  with  .  .  . 
In  punishment  for  his  rebellion  he  was  compelled  to  make  the 
amende  honorable  on  his  knees  before  his  seigneur.  .  .  Yes- 
terday my  daughter,  together  with  so  many  other  victims,  was 
smothered  to  death  by  the  smoke  that  the  bailiff  of  the  Sire  of 
Nointel  ordered  the  cavern  in  which  they  had  taken  refuge 
to  be  filled  with  .  .  .  'An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a 
tooth !'  .  .  .  So  says  Scripture  .  .  .  The  Sire  of  Noin- 
tel has  outraged  the  bride  of  Mazurec  the  Lambkin  . 
Now  the  bride  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel  belongs  to  Mazurec." 

The  Jacques  greeted  the  sentence  of  their  chief  with  tri- 
umphant acclaim,  while  with  one  kick  Adam  the  Devil  broke 
open  the  door  of  Gloriande's  nuptial  chamber,  and  by  the  light 
of  the  torches  of  perfumed  wax  that  burned  within  from  massive 
candlesticks  of  silver,  the  Jacques  saw  the  dazzling  interior  of  the 
apartment. 

Fainting  with  terror  Gloriande  still  struggled  with  Mazurec 
who  dragged  her  to  the  nuptial  couch.  "Father!  Deliver 
me !"  cried  the  agonized  belle. 

"Thus  did  Aveline  call  me  to  her  help,"  said  William  Caillet 
with  his  foot  on  the  Count  of  Chivry.  "You  shall  drain  the  cup 
to  the  lees !" 

"Oh,  death !  rather  than  to  witness  such  atrocities !"  cried 
the  Sire  of  Nointel.  "Heaven  and  earth !  To  see  that  miser- 
able vassal  dare  to  lay  hands  upon  Gloriande!  The  scamp  is 
tearing  down  the  curtains !  He  means  to  violate  my  bride !" 

"Oh !  Oh !  You  are  a  rebel !"  cried  Adam  the  Devil  laugh- 
ing loudly.  "We  now  sentence  you  to  make  the  amende  honor- 
able on  both  knees  before  your  master  and  seigneur,  Jacques  Bon- 
homme,  in  the  person  of  Mazurec;  and  you  shall  beg  his  par- 
don for  having  insulted  him  ...  for  calling  him  scamp !" 

"Conrad,  let  us  know  how  to  die !"  cried  the  knight  of  Chau- 


IQO  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

montel.  "We  shall  soon  be  revenged  upon  these  scamps;  not 
one  of  them  will  escape  the  lances  of  the  knights." 

Jocelyn  the  Champion,  who  had  until  then  stood  by  an  im- 
passive witness,  now  stepped  forward  and  heavily  laying  his 
iron  gauntlet  upon  the  knight's  shoulder  said  to  him:  "You 
fought  cased  in  iron  against  my  brother  Mazurec  who  was  half 
naked  and  armed  only  with  a  stick.  I  have  decided  that  you 
shall  now  fight  him,  yourself  half  naked  and  armed  with  a 
stick,  he  cased  in  iron.  If  you  are  vanquished  you  shall  bo 
thrown  into  a  bag  and  drowned.  To-day,  from  appellee,  Jacques 
Bonhomrne  has  become  appellant." 

"But  before  the  combat,"  cried  Adam  the  Devil,  "let  us  take 
supper,  my  Jacques ;  the  table  is  set ;  plenty  of  wine  is  still  left 
in  the  flagons ;  also  meats  on  the  dishes !  .  .  .  Let  us  feast 
before  the  eyes  of  these  seigneurs,  the  fathers,  brothers  or  hus- 
bands of  yonder  dames  and  damosels!  .  .  .  Fall  to,  my 
Jacques!  Long  live  love  and  wine!  After  the  feast  we  shall 
lock  up  thi§  whole  nobility,  men,  women  and  children,  in  the 
underground  prisons  of  the  castles !  The  ruins  of  the  burnt- 
down  manor  shall  be  their  fitting  tombstone  .  .  .  Fall  to, 
Jacques  Bonhomrne  .  .  .  Long  live  love  and  wine,  and  ours 
be  the  dames  and  damosels  of  these  nobles !" 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  ORVILLE  BRIDGE. 

Night  is  about  to  yield  to  day ;  the  moon  is  setting ;  the  first 
glimmerings  of  dawn  begin  to  crimson  the  eastern  sky.  The 
troop  of  Jacques,  who  fired  the  manor  of  Chivry  after  putting 
its  noble  tenants  to  the  sword,  is  now  marching  towards  the 
bridge  that  spans  the  Orville  river,  and  from  which,  the  year 
before,  tied  in  a  bag,  Mazurec  was  thrown  into  the  water.  At 
the  head  of  the  troop  march  William,  Mazurec,  Jocelyn  and 
Adam  the  Devil.  Behind  them  follow  the  Jacques  leading  the 
Sire  of  Nointel  and  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  half  naked,  un- 
armed and  pinioned.  His  head  covered  with  the  casque,  clad  in 
the  cuirass  and  coat  of  mail,  and  armed  with  the  dagger  and 
sword  of  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  Mazurec  marches  between 
Jocelyn  the  Champion  and  Caillet.  Halting  at  the  crest  of  the 
hill  they  had  just  ascended,  and  which  commanded  a  wide  view 
of  the  surrounding  country,  the  latter  cried  pointing  in  sev- 
eral directions  of  the  horizon  that  was  either  lighted  with  flames 
or  darkened  with  black  clouds : 

"Do  you  see  the  castles  of  Chivry,  of  Bourgeuil,  of  Saint- 
Prix,  of  Montsorin,  of  Villiers,  of  Rochemur  and  so  many  others, 
aye,  so  many  others,  set  this  night  on  fire,  sacked  and  their 
noble  masters  put  to  the  sword  by  bands  of  revolted  serfs? 
.  .  .  Do  you  hear  the  village  bells  summoning  the  serfs  to 
arms  ?  .  .  .  They  sound  still !  They  are  summoning  the 
Jacques  to  the  hunt  of  the  nobles !" 

Indeed,  the  hurried  peals  of  the  bells,  loudly  sounding  from 
a  large  number  of  villages  that  lay  scattered  in  the  fields  and! 
forests,  reached  the  hill,  carried  thither  by  the  morning  breeze. 
The  horizon,  reflecting  the  flames  that  were  devouring  so  many 


192 


THE  IRON  T REVET. 


feudal  manors,  itself  seemed  on  fire.  Hardly  were  the  first 
rays  of  the  sun  able  to  penetrate  the  thickness  of  the  somber  mass 
of  smoke. 

"The  sight  is  worth  the  music  P  remarked  Adam  the  Devil 
listening  to  the  sound  of  the  bells.  Crossing  his  arms  behind 
him,  spreading  out  his  legs,  and  poising  himself  on  his  robust 
loins  he  swept  with  an  eager  eye  the  flaming  curtain  of  the  dis- 
tant conflagrations.  "There  they  are  on  fire  and  in  ruins,  those 
proud  donjons  cemented  in  the  blood  and  the  sweat  of  mr  peo- 
ple, and  that  for  centuries  have  been  the  terror  of  our  fathers ! 
Ha !  Ha !  Ha !"  and  laughing  boisterously  the  serf  proceeded : 
"What  mournful  scenes  must  now  be  enacting  at  those  manors !" 

"At  this  hour,"  observed  Caillet,  "in  Beauvoisis,  in  Laonnais, 
in  Picardy,  in  Vermandois,  in  Champagne,  everywhere,  in  the 
Isle  of  France,  Jacques  Bonhomme  is  making  similar  bonfires! 
Everywhere  the  nobility  and  their  supporting  priests  are  being 
massacred !" 

"I  wish  I  could  see  all  the  fires  I"  exclaimed  Adam  tb>  Devil, 
raising  his  head.  "I  would  like  to  hear  all  the  cries  uttered  by 
these  nobles !" 

"Oh!"  observed  Jocelyn,  with  profound  sorrow,  "if  the  cries 
of  our  fathers,  the  male  and  female  serfs  and  vassals,  who  for  so 
many  hundreds  of  years  have  endured  martyrdom,  could  reach 
us  across  the  centuries !  .  .  .  Oh !  if  the  cries  of  our  mothers, 
borne  down  by  serfdom,  starved  in  misery;  and  outraged  by  the 
seigneurs,  could  now  reach  us  across  these  many  centuries  .  . 
If  that  could  be,  then  the  frightful  concert  of  maledictions,  of 
imprecations  and  of  cries  of  pain  that  would  reach  us  would 
drown  that  which  now  goes  up  from  these  feudal  strongholds ! 
.  .  .  The  hour  of  justice  has  come  at  last !" 

"Brother,"  said  Mazurec,  sad  and  dejected,  while  hastening 
his  steps  so  as  to  leave  Caillet  and  Adam  the  Devil  behind  and 
snatch  a  few  moments  of  privacy  with  Jocelyn,  "I  have  an  ad- 
mission to  make  to  you  .  .  .  and  perhaps  also  to  pray  your 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  193 

indulgence  for  a  weakness  of  my  heart  .  .  .  When  I  had 
dragged  the  bride  of  Conrad  into  her  nuptial  chamber  .  .  . 
and  after  the  door  was  closed  behind  us,  Gloriande  threw  herself 
at  my  feet,  and  with  joined  hands  she  implored  mercy.  I  said 
to  myself :  'My  poor  Aveline  must  have  prayed  for  mercy  .  .  . 
she  must  have  suffered  terribly/  I  wept  at  the  thought  of  Ave- 
line; I  forgot  my  hatred  and  my  vengeance.  Seeing  me  weep, 
Gloriande  redoubled  her  supplications.  I  then  said  to  her :  'In 
my  condition  of  serf  I  had  but  one  joy  in  the  world,  the  love  of 
Aveline-who-never-lied  .  .  .  She  was  outraged  by  my  seig- 
neur, your  bridegroom  .  .  .  After  months  of  suffering  and 
despair  she  died,  smothered  by  smoke  in  the  cavern  of  Nointel 
shortly  before  being  delivered  of  the  child  of  her  shame  .  .  . 
It  seems  to  me  I  see  my  poor  Avelin,  on  her  knees,  like  you  now, 
asking  for  mercy  .  .  .  It  is  her  whom  I  pity  .  .  .  You 
need  not  fear  me!'  And  Gloriande  took  my  hands  in  hers, 
kissed  and  moistened  them  with  her  tears  .  .  .  She  begged 
me  to  allow  her  to  escape  by  a  secret  passage.  I  consented.  I 
remained  in  the  room,  thinking  of  Aveline  until  they  set  fire  to 
the  castle.  I  did  not  wish  to  outrage  my  seigneur's  bride. 
.  .  .  Vengeance  would  not  have  restored  to  me  my  lost  hap- 
piness." 

"Oh,  my  poor  brother!  Gentle  soul!  Generous  heart!"  an- 
swered Jocelyn,  deeply  moved.  "You  whom  nature  made  Maz- 
urec  the  Lambkin  and  whom  your  master's  ferocity  transformed 
into  Mazurec  the  Wolf!  You  were  born  to  love,  not  to  hate! 
Oh,  you  speak  truly !  Vengeance  does  not  return  the  lost  happi- 
ness !  Sublime  martyr,  you  need  no  indulgence  for  your  gener- 
ous conduct!  Your  heart  did  not  fail  you;  it  inspired  itself 
with  the  principle  of  mercy  proclaimed  by  the  young  carpenter 
of  Nazareth!"  And  seeing  that  Adam  the  Devil  and  Caillet 
were  approaching,  Jocelyn  added,  in  a  low  voice:  "Brother,  let 
none  know  that  you  respected  Gloriande ;  above  all,  Conrad  must, 
for  his  punishment,  believe  that  his  bride  was  dishonored!" 
Turning  then  to  Caillet,  who  had  just  joined  the  two,  Jocelyn 


194  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

observed :  "We  shall  soon  be  at  the  Orville  bridge.  Our  friends 
are  anxious  we  should  reach  the  spot  quickly.  The  work  of  pun- 
ishment is  not  yet  finished." 

The  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  now  glisten  in  the  rapid  waters 
of  the  Orville  that  the  previous  year  had  swallowed  up  Mazurec 
pinioned  and  tied  in  a  bag.  On  its  banks  still  stand  the  trunks 
of  the  old  willow  trees  from  which  were  hanged  the  serfs  caught 
in  the  riot  of  the  tourney.  The  morning  breeze  agitates  the  reeds 
that  concealed  Adam  the  Devil  and  Jocelyn  during  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  death  of  Mazurec,  and  from  behind  which  they  had 
succeeded  in  rescuing  him. 

The  Jacques  arrived  at  the  bridge,  crossed  it  and  stepped  upon 
the  broad  meadow  in  the  middle  of  which  the  last  year's  tourney 
given  by  the  seigneur,  of  Nointel  was  held.  They  halted  there. 
A  large  number  of  them  had  been  spectators  of  the  passage  of 
arms,  and  had  afterwards  witnessed  the  judicial  duel  between 
Mazurec  and  the  knight  of  Chaumontel.  Obedient  to  the  orders 
of  Caillet,  several  peasants  proceeded  to  cut  it  with  their  scythes 
young  tree  branches,  that  they  stuck  in  the  ground,  forming  an 
enclosure  about  thirty  feet  square,  in  imitation  of  the  fence  or 
barrier  of  tourneys.  The  enclosure  being  ready,  the  Jacques 
crowded  in  dense  ranks  around  it. 

At  a  signal,  William  Caillet  approached  the  men  who  led 
the  pinioned  Sire  of  Nointel  and  the  knight  of  Chaumontel. 
The  latter,  though  pale,  still  preserved  his  resoluteness;  the 
former,  however,  looking  dejected  and  discouraged,  was  now 
a  prey  to  superstitious  terror.  He  sees  verified  the  sinister 
prophecy  of  his  vassal,  who  the  year  before  had  said  to  him: 
"You  have  outraged  my  bride,  your  bride  shall  be  outraged." 

Of  all  his  attire,  the  Sire  of  Nointel  has  preserved  only  his 
jerkin  and  velvet  shoes,  now  in  shreds  from  the  roughness  of 
the  road.  Cold  drops  of  perspiration  gather  at  his  temples. 
Caillet  addresses  him:  "Last  year  my  daughter  was  forcibly 


THE  IRON   T REVET.  195 

placed  in  your  bed  .  .  .  last  night  Mazurec,  the  wronged 
bridegroom  whom  we  saved  from  the  watery  grave  that  you  de- 
creed to  him,  returned  outrage  for  outrage  .  .  .  My  daugh- 
ter and  many  other  victims  died  an  atrocious  death  in  the  cavern 
of  the  forest  of  Nointel,  last  night  your  bride  and  many  other 
nobles  died  in  the  underground  dungeons  of  the  castle  of  Chivry 
that  Jacques  Bonhomme  set  on  fire  .  .  .  But  that  is  not 
yet  enough.  Mazurec  was  sentenced  to  make  the  amende  hon- 
orable to  you  because  he  insulted  you;  seeing  that  you  insulted 
Mazurec  when  he  dragged  away  your  wife,  you  shall  now  make 
the  amende  honorable  on  your  knees  before  Mazurec.  If  you  re- 
fuse," added  Caillet,  seeing  the  enraged  seigneur  stamp  the 
ground  with  his  feet,  "if  you  refuse,  I  shall  then  sentence  you 
to  the  same  death  that  you  have  inflicted  upon  several  of  your 
vassals.  Two  young  and  strong  trees  shall  be  bent,  you  shall  be 
tied  by  the  feet  to  the  one  and  by  the  arms  to  the  other,  the,  sap- 
lings will  then  be  let  free  to  straighten  themselves  up  again 
.  .  .  You  are  forewarned,  Sire  of  Nointel !" 

"I  witnessed  the  death  of  my  friend  Toussaint  the  Heavy-bell, 
who  was  dismembered  in  that  manner  by  your  orders  between  two 
oak  saplings !"  interposed  Adam  the  Devil.  "I  know  exactly  how 
it  must  be  done  in  order  to  manage  that  torture  successfully. 
Now  choose  between  the  amende  honorable  or  the  death  we  just 
described." 

"Submit,  Conrad  !"  said  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  with  bitter 
disdain.  "Let  us  submit  to  the  extreme  limit  of  the  excesses 
of  these  varlets.  We  will  be  revenged.  Oh,  soon  again  the 
casque  will  resume  the  upperhand  over  the  woolen  cap,  and  the 
lance  over  the  fork." 

Shivering  with  dismay  at  the  threatened  torture,  Conrad  of 
Nointel  answered  his  friend  in  a  hoarse  voice:  "Gerard,  do  not 
leave  me  alone!" 

"I  shall  be  your  faithful  companion  to  the  end/'  answered 
the  knight.  "We  have  joyously  emptied  more  than  one  cup  to- 
gether, we  shall  die  together." 

Led  by  Jacques,  the  two  nobles  were  placed  in  the  center 


196  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

of  the  enclosure,  around  which  stood  the  revolted  vassals.  Many 
of  them  had  also  witnessed  the  amende  honorable  of  Mazurec, 
who,  now  armed  in  the  armor  of  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  is 
standing  near  the  center  of  the  lists,  reclining  on  his  long 
sword. 

"On  your  knees!"  ordered  Adam  the  Devil  to  the  Sire  of 
Nointel,  and  pressing  down  with  his  strong  hands  the  seigneur's 
shoulders,  he  made  him  drop  on  his  knees  at  the  feet  of  Mazurec. 
"And  now,  noble  seigneur,  repeat  my  words : 

"Seigneur  Jacques  Bonhomme,  I  blame  myself  and  humbly 
repent  having  used  unseemly  words  against  you  when  last  night 
you  dragged  my  noble  bride  .  .  . 

Outbursts  of  laughter,  jeers  and  cat-calls  from  the  Jacques 
greeted  these  words,  which  recalled  to  the  Sire  of  Nointel  both 
the  forfeiture  of  his  happiness  and  the  disgrace  of  his  bride. 
He  shrank  together,  emitted  a  roar  of  pain,  and  burning  tears 
dropped  from  his  eyes  while  grinding  his  teeth  he  muttered: 
"Death  and  massacre !" 

"That  is  quite  painful,  is  it  not,  Sire  of  Nointel,"  suggested 
Caillet,  "to  be  forced  to  beg  pardon  on  one's  knees  for  having 
wished  to  resist  the  outrage  that  is  racking  your  mind?  Poor 
Mazurec  the  Lambkin  went  through  this  shame  only  last  year, 
as  you  are  doing  now!  .  .  .  It  is  justice!  .  .  .  Stay 
on  your  knees !" 

"Come,  let's  hurry!"  resumed  Adam  the  Devil,  "make  the 
amende  honorable  on  your  knees  before  Jacques  Bonhomme,  if 
not,  you  shall  be  dismembered  on  the  spot,  my  noble  Sire  \" 

The  Sire  of  Nointel  answered  only  with  a  fresh  roar  of  rage, 
writhing  in  his  bonds :  "Oh,  my  unhappy  life !" 

"Conrad,"  said  Gerard,  "repeat  the  empty  words,  yield  to 
these  cowardly  varlets.  What  can  you  do  against  force  ?  There 
is  nothing  but  to  submit." 

"Never!"  cried  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage. 
"Sooner  a  thousand  deaths!  To  ask  pardon  of  that  miserable 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  197 

serf  .  .  .  when  before  my  own  eyes  he  dragged  away  my 
bride  .  .  .  my  beautiful  and  proud  Gloriande  .  .  .  /' 
and  breaking  out  again  in  a  cry  of  rage :  "Blood  and  massacre ! 

A  minute  ago  I  felt  overwhelmed  ...  I  now  feel  hell 
burning  in  my  breast  .  .  .  Oh,  if  only  I  were  free  .  .  . 
I  would  tear  these  varlets  to  pieces  with  my  nails  and  teeth !  I 
would  put  them  through  a  thousand  deaths!" 

"Sire  of  Nointel,  if  upon  your  knees  you  make  the  amende 
honorable  to  Mazurec  ,  I  shall  then  put  a  sword  in  your  hand," 
said  Jocelyn  the  Champion  slowly  drawing  near.  "I  promise 
to  fight  with  you,  and  you  will  then  at  least  die  as  a  man.  Come, 
on  your  knees !" 

"True?"  mumbled  Conrad,  his  mind  wandering  with  despair 
and  rage,  "you  will  give  me  a  sword?  ...  I  shall  be  able 
to  die  seeing  the  blood  of  one  of  you  flow  .  .  .  you  miser- 
able rebels !" 

Seizing  the  naked  sword  that  his  brother  held  in  his  hand, 
Jocelyn  took  it  and  threw  it  on  the  ground  a  few  paces  from 
Conrad,  and  planting  his  foot  upon  the  blade  said:  "Make  the 
amende  honorable — you  will  then  be  unbound  and  you  may  take 
this  sword  .  .  .  then  there  shall  be  a  combat  to  the  death 
between  us  two,  son  of  Neroweg !" 

"Come,  my  handsome  Sir,"  resumed  Adam  the  Devil  address- 
ing Conrad,  "come,  repeat  after  me — 'Seigneur  Jacques  Bon- 
homme,  I  blame  myself  and  humbly  repent  .  .  . 

"Seigneur  Jacques  Bonhomme,"  repeated  Conrad  of  Nointel 
in  a  voice  strangling  with  rage  and  casting  a  furtive  look  at 
the  sword  only  the  sight  of  which  imparted  to  him  the  neces- 
sary strength  to  perform  the  revolting  expiatory  act.  "Seigneur 
Jacques  Bonhomme,  I  blame  myself  and  humbly  repent  .  .  . 
Shame  and  humiliation !" 

"Having  used  unseemly  words  against  you,  Seigneur  Jacques 
Bonhomme,"  proceeded  Adam  the  Devil  amidst  new  outbursts 


igB  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

of  laughter  and  jeers  from  the  Jacques,  "when  last  night  you 
were  about  to  outrage  my  bride  on  the  nuptial  bed     .     .     .     my  ' 
belle  Gloriande  of  Chivry." 

"No,  no,  never,"  cried  Conrad  of  Nointel,  foaming  at  the 
mouth,  "I  never  shall  repeat  those  infamous  words!" 

Jocelyn  took  off  and  threw  his  casque  at  a  distance,  unbuckled 
his  steel  corselet,  threw  away  his  armlets,  pulled  off  his  leather 
jerkin,  preserving  only  that  part  of  his  armor  that  covered  his 
thighs  and  lower  extremities,  removed  his  shirt,  leaving  his 
breast  bare,  and  said  to  the  Sire  of  Nointel:  "Here  is  flesh  to 
bore  holes  through,  if  you  can  ...  I  am  wounded  in  the 
thigh  .  .  .  that  evens  up  your  chances;  moreover,  I  swear 
I  shall  strike  only  at  your  breast;  yes,  I  swear  it,  as  truly  as, 
freeman  or  serfs,  my  ancestors  have  during  the  centuries  that 
rolled  over  us  crossed  swords  with  yours !" 

"Oh,  you  dog  whom  my  ancestors  conquered  ...  I  shall 
kill  you  I"  cried  Conrad  of  Nointel  nearly  delirious.  Retaining 
his  posture  on  his  knees  before  Mazurec,  he  muttered,  gasping 
for  breath :  "I  repent,  seigneur  Jacques  Bonhomme  ...  of 
having  used  unseemly  words  .  .  .  against  you  .  .  . 
when  you  sought  ...  to  outrage  .  .  .  my  bride  in  her 
nuptial  bed  .  .  . 

"The  belle  Gloriande  of  Chivry,  and  pronounce  the  name  dis- 
tinctly," said  Adam  the  Devil.  "Now,  hurry  up!" 

"The  .  .  .  belle  .  .  .  Gloriande  ...  of  ... 
Chivry  .  .  .  '  repeated  Conrad,  as  if  tearing  the  words 
from  his  breast. 

"High,  puissant  and  redoubtable  seigneur  of  Nointel,  Jacques 
Bonhomme  pardons  you  for  the  outrage  he  perpetrated  upon 
you !"  now  put  in  Mazurec  in  the  midst  of  a  fresh  explosion  of 
triumphant  laughter  and  contemptuous  jeers  uttered  by  the 
Jacques. 

"The  sword!     The  sword!"  cried  Conrad  rising  livid  and 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  199 

fearful  with  rage,  but  with  his  hands  still  pinioned  behind  him, 
and  addressing  Jocelyn.  "You  promised  me  blood  .  . .  v 
yours  ...  or  mine  ...  I  wish  to  die  seeing  blood 
.  .  .  To  the  sword,  to  the  sword !" 

"Remove  his  bonds,"  said  the  champion  with  his  feet  still  on 
the  sword  that  lay  on  the  ground  and  drawing  his  own. 

While  the  Jacques  were  unfastening  the  bonds  that  held  the 
arms  of  the  seigneur  of  Nointel,  the  knight  of  Chaumontel  took 
a  step  towards  his  friend  and  said  to  him:  "Farewell,  Conrad 
.  .  .  you  are  blinded  with  rage  .  .  .  you  are  weakened 
by  the  trials  of  last  night  .  .  .  you  will  be  killed  by  that 
Hercules  ...  a  champion  by  profession  .  .  .  But  we 
shall  be  revenged." 

"I  killed!"  cried  the  Sire  of  Nointel  with  a  ghostly  smile. 
"No,  no;  it  is  I  who  will  kill  the  dog  ...  I  will  cut  the 
vagabond's  throat !" 

"Recommend  your  soul  to  St.  James,"  said  Gerard  in  a  pen- 
etrating voice  to  Conrad;  "an  invocation  to  him  is  sovereign 
in  cases  of  duels." 

"Oh,  I  shall  invoke  my  hatred,"  replied  Conrad  twitching  his 
arms  that  Adam  the  Devil  was  about  to  unloosen.  But  Jocelyn 
made  a  sign  to  his  companion  to  wait  a  moment  before  untying 
the  Sire  of  Nointel,  and  then  turning  to  the  revolted  serfs  he 
made  to  them  this  vigorous  and  terse  address : 

"It  is  now  eleven  hundred  years  ago  .  .  .  one  of  my  an- 
cestors, Schavanoch  the  Soldier — the  foster  brother  of  Victoria 
the  Great,  the  emperor  woman  who  predicted  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  Gaul — fought  against  one  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Frankish 
hordes  who  then  threatened  to  invade  Gaul,  our  mother  country ; 
that  Frankish  chieftain  was  called  Neroweg  the  Terrible  Eagle, 
and  he  was  the  ancestor  of  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  whom  you  there 
see  before  you  .  .  .  Two  centuries  later,  the  Franks,  thanks 
to  the  complicity  of  the  Bishop  of  Rome,  had  succeeded  in  con- 
quering Gaul  and  in  reducing  her  inhabitants  to  a  condition  of 


200  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

most  cruel  slavery;  our  land  thereupon  became  a  prey  to  our 
conquerors,  and  we  moistened  it  with  our  sweat,  our  tears  and 
our  blood  .  .  .  During  the  first  years  of  the  Frankish  con- 
quest, Karadeuk  the  Bagaude,  the  ancestor  of  both  Mazurec  and 
myself,  a  revolted  slave,  fought  with  Neroweg,  Count  of  Au- 
vergne,  count  by  the  right  of  rapine  and  murder.  That  Neroweg 
had  subjected  to  a  cruel  torture  Loysik  the  Working-Hermit  and 
Ronan  the  Vagre,  sons  of  Karadeuk  the  Bagaude.  Bagaudie 
and  Vagrerie  were  the  Jacquerie  of  those  days.  Vagres  and 
Bagaudes  revenged  themselves  then  as  the  Jacques  do  now  for 
the  oppression  of  the  seigneurs.  In  that  fight  between  Karadeuk 
the  Bagaude  and  the  Count  Neroweg,  Neroweg  fell  under  the 
axe  of  Karadeuk  .  .  .  Coming  down  to  three  centuries  ago, 
another  of  my  ancestors,  Den-Brao  the  Mason  was  buried  alive 
together  with  several  other  serfs,  his  fellow  workmen,  by  Nero- 
weg IV,  Count  of  Plouernel  in  Brittany. 

That  noble  thereby  buried  together  with  Den-Brao  the  secret  of 
an  underground  passage  that  they  had  been  made  to  construct, 
leading  from  the  feudal  manor  into  the  forest.  The  grandson  of 
Den-Brao,  who  remained  a  serf  of  the  seigniory  of  Plouernel,  was 
called  Fergan  the  Quarryman.  Neroweg  VI  kidnapped  a  son  of 
Fergan  for  the  purpose  of  applying  the  child  to  the  bloody  sorcer- 
ies of  a  witch.  Fergan  succeeded  in  rescuing  his  child,  but  he  wit- 
nessed the  murder  of  his  two  relatives  Bezenecq  the  Rich  and 
Bezenecq's  daughter  Isoline.  Unable  to  pay  an  enormous  ran- 
som imposed  upon  him  by  Neroweg  VI,  Bezenecq  perished  under 
the  torture,  while  Isoline,  the  witness  of  her  father's  torment, 
became  insane  and  died.  Then  came  the  days  of  the  Crusades. 
Fergan  and  his  seigneur  met  face  to  face  and  alone  in  the  middle 
of  the  desert  of  Syria.  Fergan  could  have  killed  him  by  surprise, 
but  he  fought  him  and  vanquished  .  .  .  Finally,  only  a 
year  ago,  my  brother  Mazurec  the  Lambkin  has  seen  his  bride 
dishonored  by  the  Sire  of  Nointel,  the  scion  of  the  Nerowegs  of 
old,  he  forced  my  brother  to  make  him  the  amende  honorable  at 


THE  IRON  T REVET.  201 

his  feet,  and  thereupon  to  fight  half  naked  with  the  knight  of 
Chaumontel  in  full  armor.    Vanquished  in  this  unequal  combat 
and  sentenced  to  be  drowned  in  a  bag,  Mazurec  would  have  per- 
ished but  for  Adam  the  Devil  and  myself,  who  succeeded  in 
drawing  him  out  of  the  river  betimes,  but  his  wife,  Aveline- 
who-never-lied,  died  an  atrocious  death  only  a  few  days  ago. 
The  history  of  my  family's  sufferings  is  the  history  of  the  fami- 
lies of  us  all,  the  enslaved  and  oppressed  of  your  class,  Sire  of 
Nointel,  during  so  many  centuries !    Aye,  among  the  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  revolted  vassals,  who  at  this  hour  are  run- 
ning to  arms,  there  is  not  one  whose  family  has  not  undergone 
what  mine  has !     The  narrative  of  Mazurec's  family  and  mine 
is  theirs  also.     Do  you  now  understand  the  treasury  of  hatred 
and  of  vengeance  that  has  been  heaping  up  from  century  to  cen- 
tury in  the  indignant  breast  of  Jacques  Bonhomme?    Do  you 
understand  that  from  age  to  age  the  fathers  bequeathed  this 
hatred  to  their  children  as  the  only  heritage  left  to  them  by 
servitude?    Do  you  understand  that  the  vassal  has  a  frightful 
account  to  settle  with  his  seigneur  ?    Do  you  understand  how,  in 
his  turn,  Jacques  Bonhomme  has  no  mercy  and  no  pity?    Do 
you,  finally,  understand  that  if  at  this  moment,  instead  of  fight- 
ing you,  I  were  to  kill  you  like  a  wolf  caught  in  a  trap,  the  act 
would  be  just?    You  have  but  one  life,  but  innumerable  are  the 
lives  of  the  Gauls  taken  by  you,  and  much  larger  yet  those  taken 
by  your  class !" 

An  explosion  of  fury  from  the  Jacques  marked  the  close  of 
these  words.  Sufficiently  exasperated  against  the  Sire  of  Noin- 
tel,  they  felt  that  the  narrative  of  Jocelyn's  family  was  that  of 
the  martyrdom  on  earth  endured  by  Jacques  Bonhomme. 

"Death  to  the  seigneur!  .  .  .  Death  without  combat !" 
repeated  the  insurgents.  "Death  to  him,  like  a  wolf  caught  in 
a  trap !" 

"Vassal,  you  promised  to  fight  with  me!"  cried  Conrad  of 
Nointel.  "Of  what  use  are  these  ancient  stories  ?" 


202  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Do  you  repudiate  the  acts  of  your  ancestors  ?  Do  you  repu- 
diate your  class  ?" 

"Even  with  your  sword  at  my  throat  I  shall  to  the  very  end 
pronounce  myself  proud  of  belonging  to  the  warrior  class  that 
has  held  you  under  the  whip  and  the  stick,  ye  miserable  serfs 
.  .  .  Even  dying  would  I  smite  your  faces !" 

With  a  wafture  of  his  hand  Jocelyn  restrains  a  fresh  ex- 
plosion of  fury  from  the  Jacques,  and  says  to  Adam  the  Devil: 
"Deliver  the  seigneur  of  his  bonds  .  .  .  Once  more  in  the 
course  of  the  centuries  a  son  of  Joel  and  a  son  of  Neroweg  shall 
take  each  other's  measure,  sword  in  hand  !" 

"And  may  my  stock  again  meet  yours  to  the  undoing  of  your 
own!"  answered  Conrad  of  Nointel  in  a  hollow  voice.  "The 
elder  branch  of  my  family  still  occupies  its  domains  in  Auvergne 
.  .  .  and  my  father's  brother  has  sons!  The  race  of  the 
Nerowegs  will  reappear  across  the  ages !" 

"Battle!  .  .  .  Battle!"  said  Jocelyn.  "It  shall  be  a 
battle  to  the  death,  without  quarter  or  mercy  .  .  .  Battle !" 

"And  also  I,  brother,  shall  have  neither  pity  nor  mercy  for 
that  thief,  the  cause  of  all  my  misfortunes  !"  cried  Mazurec  point- 
ing at  the  knight  of  Chaumontel,  and  added:  "Adam,  untie 
also  his  hands.  ,  There  is  room  enough  here  for  a  double  com- 
bat. My  brother  shall  have  the  seigneur  ...  I  shall  take 
this  thief  of  a  knight.  Give  me  a  pitchfork,  the  fork  is  the 
lance  of  Jacques  Bonhomme." 

Freed  of  his  bonds  and  clad  only  in  his  shirt  and  hose,  Ger- 
ard of  Chaumontel  receives  from  William  Caillet  a  stick  to  de- 
fend himself  with,  and  from  Adam  the  Devil  a  rude  push  that 
throws  him  in  front  of  Mazurec,  who,  protected  from  head  to 
foot  by  the  knight's  own  armor,  holds  up  his  three-pronged  and 
sharp  fork. 

"Come  up,  you  double  thief!"  Mazurec  called  out;  "must  I 
step  forward  to  meet  you  ?" 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  203 

the  Jacques,  grasps  his  stick  with  both  hands  and  forcing  a  smile 
on  his  lips  answers:  "The  heralds-at-arms  have  not  yet  given 
the  signal." 

In  the  meantime,  Conrad  of  Nointel,  whose  arms  have  been 
unbound,  stooped  down  to  seize  the  sword  from  which  Jocelyn 
had  not  yet  lifted  his  foot. 

"One  moment!"  cried  the  champion,  always  with  his  foot 
firmly  on  the  sword.  "Sire  of  Nointel,  look  me  in  the  face 
.  .  .  if  you  dare !" 

Conrad  raised  his  head,  fastened  his  glistening  eyes  upon  his 
adversary  and  asked :  "What  do  you  want  ?" 

"Worthy  Sire,  I  wish  to  goad  you  to  the  combat.  I  mistrust 
your  courage.  You  fled  like  a  coward  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers, 
and  a  minute  ago  you  referred  to  me  as  a  vile  slave  fit  only  for 
the  whip  and  the  cane — " 

"And  I  say  so  again!"  yelled  Conrad  turning  red  and  white 
with  rage,  "you  vagabond !" 

"Take  this  for  the  insult!"  came  from  Jocelyn  like  a  flash 
while  buffeting  the  livid  face  of  Conrad  of  Nointel.  "These 
slaps  are  the  goad  I  promised  you.  Even  if  you  were  more 
cowardly  than  a  hare,  fury  will  now  serve  you  instead  of  cour- 
age !"  Saying  this  Jocelyn  made  a  leap  backward,  placing  him- 
self on  his  guard  and  leaving  the  sword  on  the  ground  free. 
Crazed  with  rage,  Conrad  of  Nointel  seized  the  weapon  and 
rushed  upon  Jocelyn  at  the  very  moment  that,  armed  with  his 
stick,  Gerard  of  Chaumontel  was  rapidly  retreating  before  the 
approaching  prongs  of  Mazurec's  fork. 

"Infamous  thief!"  cried  the  vassal  pressing  the  knight  with 
his  fork;  "I  had  more  courage  than  you  ...  I  threw  my 
self  under  the  feet  of  your  horse,  and  seized  you  hand  to  hand !" 

"My  Jacques!"  cried  out  Adam  the  Devil  seeing  the  knight 
of  Chaumontel  still  retreating  before  Mazurec,  "cross  your 
scythes  behind  that  knight  of  cowardice;  let  him  fall  under 
your  iron  if  he  tries  to  escape  Mazurec's  fork." 


204  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

The  Jacques  followed  Adam  the  Devil's  suggestion;  at  the 
same  time  that  Mazurec  ran  forward  with  his  fork  Gerard  of 
Chaumontel  perceived  a  formidable  array  of  scythes  rise  behind 
him. 

"Cowardly  varlets !  Infamous  scamps !  You  abuse  your 
strength !" 

"And  you,  worthy  knight,"  answered  Adam  the  Devil,  "did  not 
you  abuse  your  strength  when  you  fought  on  horseback  and  in 
full  armor  against  Mazurec  half  naked  and  with  only  a  stick  to 
defend  himself  ?" 

During  this  short  dialogue,  the  Sire  of  Nointel  was  impetuous- 
ly charging  upon  Jocelyn.  Rendered  dexterous  in  the  handling 
of  the  sword  by  the  practice  of  the  tourneys,  young,  agile  and 
vigorous,  he  aims  many  an  adroit  blow  at  Jocelyn,  who,  how- 
ever, parries  them  all  like  a  consummate  gladiator,  while  prick- 
ing his  adversary  with  the  contemptuous  remark.  "To  know 
how  to  handle  a  sword  so  well,  and  yet  to  retreat  so  pitifully  at 
the  battle  of  Poitiers !  What  a  shame  I" 

With  a  rapid  step  back  Jocelyn  evades  at  that  instant  a  dan- 
gerous thrust  of  Conrad  of  Nointel's  sword,  retorts  with  a  vig- 
orous pass,  smites  his  adversary  on  the  shoulder  and,  to  his  great 
astonishment,  sees  him  suddenly  roll  on  the  ground,  seem  to 
stiffen  his  members,  and  then  remain  motionless. 

"What?"  observed  the  champion  lowering  his  sword,  "dead 
with  so  little  ?  Beaten  down  so  quickly  ?" 

"Brother,  look  out  ...  it  probably  is  a  ruse!"  cried 
Mazurec,  at  whom  Gerard  of  Chaumontel  had  finally  aimed  so 
furious  a  blow  with  his  stick  that  it  broke  into  splinters  against 
the  iron  casque  on  the  vassal's .  head.  "Without  the  casque  I 
•would  now  be  a  dead  man.  Oh!  that's  a  good  practice  yon 
knights  have  of  fighting  so  well  armed  against  half  naked  Jacques 
Bonhomme !"  Although  somewhat  dazed  by  the  shock,  Mazurec 
plunged  his  fork  into  the  bowels  of  the  robber  knight,  who  fell 
blaspheming.  Observing  that  Conrad  still  remained  motionless 


THE  IRON   T REVET.  205 

on  the  ground,  Mazurec  repeated  the  warning:  "Look  out, 
brother !  It  is  a  ruse !" 

And  so  it  was.  Astonished  at  the  fall  of  his  adversary  Jocelyn 
was  stooping  over  him  when  the  Sire  of  Nointel  suddenly  rose 
on  his  haunches,  seized  the  champion's  leg  with  one  hand,  and 
with  the  other  sought  to  stab  his  adversary  in  the  flank  with  a 
dagger  that  he  had  kept  concealed  in  his  hose.  Taken  by  sur- 
prise and  pulled  by  a  leg,  Jocelyn  lost  his  balance. 

"Viper!"  cried  Jocelyn  dropping  his  sword  and  falling  upon 
Conrad  whose  hand  he  struggled  to  overpower.  "I  was  on  the 
look-out  ...  I  thought  your  death  was  feigned!"  and 
wresting  the  dagger  from  Conrad's  hand,  Jocelyn  plunged  it  in 
his  adversary's  breast :  "Die,  thou  son  of  the  Nerowegs !" 

"Gerard!"  muttered  Conrad,  dying,  "I  ...  was  wrong 
.  .  .  in  violating  the  vassal's  wife  .  .  .  Oh,  Gloriande  I" 

Hardly  had  Jocelyn  stepped  aside  from  the  corpse  of  the  Sire 
of  Nointel  when  his  vassals,  so  often  the  victims  of  his  cruelty, 
precipitated  themselves  upon  the  arena,  and  plying  their  forks, 
scythes  and  axes  with  savage  fury  on  the  still  warm  body  of  their 
recent  tyrant,  mutilated  it  beyond  recognition.  In  the  mean- 
time, aided  by  other  Jacques,  Adam  the  Devil  raised  the  knight 
of  Chaumontel,  who,  though  mortally  wounded  by  the  thrust 
of  Mazurec's  fork,  was  still  alive,  and  called  out:  "Fetch  the 
bag  and  ropes !" 

A  peasant  brought  a  bag  with  which  they  had  ^provided  them- 
selves at  the  castle  of  Chivry.  The  bleeding  body  of  the  knight 
of  Chaumontel  was  placed  within  and  tied  fast  so  as  to  allow 
his  cadaverous  head  to  stick  out,  and  the  bundle  was  carried 
to  the  Orville  bridge. 

"Do  you  recall  my  prophecy/'  Mazurec  asked  the  knight,  with 
a  diabolical  smile;  "I  prophesied  you  would  be  drowned." 

Gerard  of  Chaumontel  uttered  a  deep  moan.  A  superstitious 
terror  now  overpowered  him.  His  wonted  haughtiness  was  no 
more.  In  a  fainting  voice  he  murmured :  "Oh,  St.  James,  have 
pity  upon  me  ,  .  .  Oh,  St.  James,  intercede  for  me  .  .  , 


206  THE  IRON   T REVET. 

with  our  Lord  and  all  his  saints  ...  I  am  justly  punished 
.  .  .  .1  stole  the  vassal's  purse  .  .  .  Oh,  Lord,  Oh, 
Lord,  have  pity  upon  me !" 

Arrived  at  the  Orville  bridge,  the  peasants  threw  the  bagged 
body  of  the  knight  of  Chaumontel  into  the  river  amid  the  fran- 
tic cheers  of  the  Jacques,  who  exclaimed :  "May  thus  perish  all 
seigneurs  I" 


CHAPTER   VI. 
ON  TO  CLERMONT! 

Tarrying  a  moment  on  the  Orville  bridge,  which  the  Jacques 
had  left  on  the  march  to  join  other  bands  and  proceed  in  stronger 
force  against  other  seigniories,  Jocelyn  noticed  a  rider  approach- 
ing at  full  gallop.  A  few  minutes  later  he  recognized  the  rider 
to  be  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher,  who  soon  reined  in  near  the 
bridge,  followed  at  a  distance  by  a  considerable  number  of  in- 
surgents. 

Jumping  off  his  horse  Rufin  said  to  Jocelyn :  "I  learned  from 
the  peasants  coming  up  behind  me  that  there  was  a  large  gather- 
ing of  Jacques  at  this  place;  I  thought  I  would  find  you  among 
them  and  hastened  hither  to  deliver  to  you  a  letter  from  Master 
Marcel  .  .  .  Great  events  are  transpiring  in  Paris." 

Jocelyn  eagerly  took  the  missive,  and  while  he  read  it,  Rufin 
the, Tankard-smasher  went  on  saying :  "By  Jupiter !  The  com- 
pany of  an  honorable  woman  brings  good  luck.  When  I  used 
to  have  Margot  on  my  arms,  I  always  ran  up  against  some  acci- 
dent; on  the  other  hand,  nothing  could  have  been  happier  than 
this  trip  of  mine  to  Paris  with  Alison  the  Huffy,  who,  I  fancy,  is 
huffy  only  at  Cupid.  We  arrived  in  Paris  without  accident,  and 
Dame  Marguerite  received  Alison  with  great  friendship.  Oh, 
my  friend  !  I  worship  that  tavern-keeper.  Fie !  What  an  im- 
proper term !  No !  That  Hebe !  And  was  not  Hebe  the  Olymp- 
ian tavern-keeper?  Oh,  if  Alison  would  only  have  me  for  her 
husband,  we  would  set  up  a  lovely  tavern,  intended  especially 
for  the  students  of  the  University.  The  shield  would  be  splen- 
did. It  would  exhibit  Greek  and  Latin  verses  appealing  to  the 
topers,  such  as :  "Like  Bacchus  docs — 

Jocelyn  here  interrupted  the  student,  saying  with  much  ani- 
mation after  he  had  finished  Etienne  Marcel's  letter:  "Rufin,  I 


208  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

return  with  you  to  Paris ;  the  provost  has  orders  for  me.  Mazu- 
rec  is  revenged.  Everywhere  the  Jacques  are  rising  according 
to  the  information  that  reaches  Marcel  from  the  provinces.  The 
formidable  movement  must  now  be  directed  and  utilized.  The 
Jacquerie  must  be  organized.  Wait  for  me  a  minute.  I  shall  be 
back  immediately." 

Jocelyn  thereupon  called  to  Adam  the  Devil,  Mazurec  and 
William  Caillet,  who  had  also  remained  behind,  took  them  aside 
and  said:  "Marcel  calls  me  to  his  side.  The  Kegent  has  with- 
drawn to  Compiegne ;  he  has  declared  Paris  out  of  the  pale  of  the 
law  and  is  preparing  to  march  upon  the  city  at  the  head  of  the 
royal  troops ;  they  are  waiting  for  him,  and  will  give  him  a  warm 
reception.  All  the  communal  towns,  Meaux,  Amiens,  Laon, 
Beauvais,  Noyons,  Senlis  are  in  arms.  Everywhere  the  peasants 
are  rising  and  the  bourgeois  and  guild  corporations  are  joining 
them.  The  King  of  Navarre  is  captain-general  of  Paris.  The 
man  deserves  the  nickname  of  'Wicked/  nevertheless  he  is  a 
powerful  instrument.  Marcel  will  break  him  if  he  deviate  from 
the  right  path  and  refuse  to  bow  before  the  popular  sovereignty. 
The  hour  of  Gaul's  enfranchisement  has  sounded  at  last.  In 
order  to  carry  the  work  to  a  successful  issue,  the  Jacquerie  will 
have  to  be  regulated.  These  scattered  and  dispersed  bands  must 
gather  together,  must  discipline  their  forces  and  form  an  army 
capable  of  coping,  first  with  that  of  the  Eegent,  and  then  with 
the  English.  We  must  first  crush  the  inside  foe  and  then  the 
foreign  one." 

"That  is  right,"  said  Caillet,  thoughtfully.  "Ten  scattered 
bands  can  not  accomplish  much^  the  ten  together  can.  I  am 
known  in  Beauvoisis.  Our  Jacques  will  follow  me  wherever  I 
lead  them.  Once  the  seigneurs  are  exterminated,  we  shall  fall 
upon  the  English,  a  vermin  that  gnaws  at  the  little  that  seigneurs 
and  their  clergy  leave  us." 

"Yesterday's  butcheries  have  opened  my  appetite,"  cried  Adam 
the  Devil,  brandishing  his  scythe.  "We  shall  mow  down  the 
English  to  the  last  man.  Death  to  all  oppressors !" 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  209 

"The  crop  will  be  fine  if  we  mow  together,"  replied  Jocelyn. 
"Meaux,  Senlis,  Beauvais  and  Clermont  are  awaiting  the  Jacques 
with  open  arms.  Their  gates  will  be  opened  to  the  peasants. 
These  will  find  there  food  and  arms." 

"Iron  and  bread  !  We  need  no  more  I"  put  in  William  Caillet. 
"And  what  is  Marcel's  plan  ?" 

"These  fortified  cities,  occupied  by  the  Jacques  and  the  armed 
bourgeoisie,  will  hold  the  Kegent's  troops  in  check  in  the  prov- 
inces." answered  Jocelyn.  "The  other  sections  of  the  country  are 
to  organize  themselves  similarly.  Now,  listen  well  to  Marcel's 
instructions.  The  King  of  Navarre  is  on  our  side  because  he 
expects  with  the  support  of  the  popular  party  to  dethrone  the 
Regent.  He  occupies  Clerrnont  with  his  troops.  Thence  he  is 
to  proceed  to  Paris  and  meet  the  royal  army  under  the  walls 
of  the  city.  He  needs  reinforcements.  Marcel  mistrusts  him. 
Now,  then,  you  are  to  gather  all  the  bands  of  Jacques  into  a  body 
and  proceed  to  Clermont  at  the  head  of  eight  thousand  men. 
You  can  then  join  Charles  the  Wicked  without  fear,  although 
he  is  never  to  be  trusted.  But  as  his  own  forces  barely  number 
two  thousand  foot  soldiers  and  five  hundred  horsemen,  in  case  of 
treason  they  would  be  crushed  by  the  Jacques,  who  would  out- 
number them  four  to  one." 

"Agreed,"  answered  William  Caillet,  after  carefully  listening 
to  the  champion,  "and  from  Clermont  are  we  to  march  straight 
to  Paris?" 

"Upon  your  arrival  at  Clermont  you  will  receive  further  in- 
structions ir?m  Marcel.  To  overpower  the  nobility,  dethrone 
the  Regent  and  chase  the  foreigners  from  our  soil — that  is  the 
provost's  programme.  When  the  campaign  shall  be  over,  the 
hour  of  Jacques  Bonhomme's  enfranchisement  will  have  come. 
Delivered  from  the  tyranny  of  the  seigneurs  and  the  pillaging 
of  the  English,  free,  happy  and  at  peace,  the  peasant  will  then 
be  able  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  arduous  labors  and  wijl  be 
able  to  taste  without  molestation  the  sweet  pleasures  of  the 
hearth  .  .  .  Yes,  you  William  Caillet,  you  Adam  the  Devil, 


210  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

you  Mazurec,  and  so  many  others  who  have  been  wounded  in 
your  tenderest  feelings,  you  will  have  been  the  last  martyrs  of 
the  seigneurs  and  clergy,  you  will  be  the  liberators  of  your 
kind." 

"Jocelyn,  whatever  may  now  happen,  vanquisher  or  van- 
quished, I  can  die  in  peace.  My  daughter  is  revenged  I"  said 
William  Caillet.  "I  promise  to  lead  more  than  ten  thousand 
men  to  the  walls  of  Clermont.  The  blood  of  the  seigneurs  and 
their  priests  who  have  outraged  us,  the  conflagrations  of  their 
castles  and  churches,  from  which  they  issued  to  oppress  us,  will 
mark  the  route  of  the  Jacques." 

"Marcel  recalls  me  to  Paris;  I  shall  return  to  him;  but  you 
will  meet  me  at  Clermont,  where  I  shall  convey  to  you  further 
instructions."  And  pressing  Mazurec  to  his  heart:  "Adieu,  my 
brother,  my  poor  brother !  We  shall  soon  meet  again.  William, 
I  leave  him  with  you.  Watch  over  the  unfortunate  lad  !" 

"I  love  him  as  I  did  my  daughter !  She  will  be  the  topic  of 
our  conversation.  And  we  shall  fight  like  men  who  no  longer 
care  for  life." 

After  this  exchange  of  adieus,  Jocelyn  turned  back  to  Paris 
with  Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher  on  the  crupper  of  his  horse. 


CHAPTEK   VII. 
CLERMONT. 

Charles  the  Wicked,  King  of  Wavarre,  occupied  at  Clermont, 
in  the  province  of  Beauv^isis,  'he  castle  of  the  count  of  the 
place — a  vast  edifice  one  of  whoue  towers  dominated  the  square 
called  the  "Suburb."  The  first  f^oor  of  the  donjon,  lighted  by  a 
long  ogive  window,  formed  a  large  circular  hall.  There,  near  a 
table,  sat  Charles  the  Wicked.  It  was  early  morning.  The 
prince  asked  one  of  his  equerries : 

"Has  the  scaffold  been  erected?" 

"Yes,  Sire,  you  can  see  it  from  this  window.  It  is  just  as  you 
ordered  it." 

"What  face  do  the  bourgeois  make  ?" 

"They  are  in  consternation;  all  the  shops  are  closed;  the 
streets  are  deserted." 

"And  the  masses?  .  .  .  the  artisans  .  .  .  Are  they 
heard  to  murmur  ?" 

"Sire,  after  yesterday's  massacre,  there  are  none  more  of  the 
poorer  class  to  be  seen  .  .  .  neither  on  the  streets  nor  the 
squares  .  .  .  The  -people  are  scarce." 

"But  some  must  still  be  left." 

"Those  that  are  left  are  in  consternation  and  stupor  like  the 
bourgeois." 

"All  the  same,  let  my  Navarrians  keep  sharp  watch  at  the  gates 
of  the  town,  on  the  ramparts  and  on  the  streets.  Let  them  kill 
on  the  spot  any  bourgoeis,  peasant  or  artisan  who  dares  this 
morning  to  put  his  nose  outside  of  his  house." 

"The  order  has  been  given,  Sire.    It  will  be  carried  out." 

"And  the  chiefs  of  those  accursed  Jacques?" 

"They  remain  impassive,  Sire !" 


212  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Blood  of  Christ!  They  will  become  livelier,  and  that  soon 
.  .  .  Has  a  trevet  been  procured.  Let  the  executioner  hold 
himself  ready." 

"Yes,  Sire.    Everything  is  prepared  according  to  your  orders." 

"Let  everything  be  ready  at  the  stroke  of  seven." 

"All  shall  be  ready,  Sire." 

Charles  the  Wicked  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  resumed, 
taking  up  an  enameled  medallion  with  his  monogram  that  lay 
near  him  on  the  table:  "Did  the  man  arrive  who  was  arrested 
at  the  gates  last  night,  and  who  sent  me  this  medallion  ?" 

"Yes,  Sire.  He  has  just  been  brought  in  unarmed  and  pin- 
ioned, as  you  ordered.  He  is  kept  under  watch  in  the  lower  hall. 
What  is  your  pleasure?" 

"Let  him  be  brought  up." 

The  equerry  stepped  out.  Charles  the  Wicked  rose,  and  ap- 
proached the  window  that  opened  upon  the  square  where  the 
scaffold  was  erected.  After  throwing  it  partly  open  so  as  to  be 
able  to  look  out,  he  reclosed  it  and  returned  to  his  seat  near  the 
table,  his  lips  contracted  with  a  sinister  smile.  He  had  barely 
sat  down  again  when  the  equerry  returned  preceding  the  a'rchers 
in  the  middle  of  whom  walked  Jocelyn  the  Champion  with  his 
hands  bound  behind  his  back  and  his  face  inflamed  with  anger. 
The  prince  made  a  sign  to  the  equerry,  who  thereupon  withdrew 
with  the  Navarrians,  leaving  Charles  the  Wicked  and  Jocelyn 
alone,  the  latter,  however,  still  pinioned. 

"Sire,  I  am  the  victim  either  of  a  mistake  or  of  unworthy 
treason!"  cried  Jocelyn.  "For  the  sake  of  your  honor,  I  hope 
it  is  a  mistake  .  .  .  Order  me  to  be  unbound." 

"There  is  no  mistake  in  the  case/' 

"Then  it  is  treason !  To  disarm  me !  To  pinion  me !  .  .  . 
Me,  the  carrier  of  the  medallion  that  I  sent  to  you  together  with 
a  letter  that  I  brought  to  you  from  Master  Marcel !  That  is 
treason,  Sire !  Disgraceful  felony !" 

"There  is  in  all  this  neither  mistake  nor  felony.  A  truce 
with  your  imprudent  words !" 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  213 

"What  else  is  it?" 

"A  simple  measure  of  prudence,"  cooly  answered  Charles  the 
Wicked ;  "you  signed  the  letter  ' Jocelyn  the  Champion'  .  .  . 
Is  that  your  name  and  profession  ?" 

"Yes,  Sire ;  I  am  a  defender  of  the  oppressed/' 

"Did  Marcel  send  you  to  me  ?" 

"I  told  you  so,  and  proved  it  by  forwarding  the  medallion. 
What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  Ask ;  I  shall  answer  ?" 

"What  is  the  purpose  of  your  message  ?" 

"You  shall  know  it  when  you  will  have  set  me  free  of  my 
bonds." 

"The  bonds  do  not  tie  your  tongue  .  .  .  seems  to  me! 
You  can  answer  very  well  as  you  are." 

"You  ignore  my  character  of  ambassador!  I  have  come  in 
that  capacity." 

"That's  subtle  .  .  .  but  be  careful ;  the  minutes  are  pre- 
cious ;  your  message  is  certainly  important  .  .  .  Its  success 
may  be  endangered  by  a  prolonged  silence." 

"Sire,  I  came  to  you,  if  not  as  a  friend,  still  as  an  ally.  You 
treat  me  like  an  enemy.  Master  Marcel  will  be  thankful  for  my 
reserve " 

"Very  well,"  said  Charles  the  Wicked,  ringing  a  bell.  The 
call  was  forthwith  answered  by  the  equerry.  "Let  this  man  be 
taken  outside  of  the  town,  and  the  gates  closed  after  him.  Do 
not  allow  him  in  again." 

After  a  brief  struggle  with  himself,  Jocelyn  resumed :  "How- 
ever outrageous  be  the  reception  you  give  an  envoy  of  Matcel,  I 
shall  speak  and  fulfill  my  mission." 

At  another  sign  from  the  King  of  Navarre,  the  equerry  stepped 
out  again  and  the  former  said  to  Jocelyn :  "What  is  your  mes- 
sage ?" 

"Master  Marcel  charged  me  to  say  to  you,  Sire,  that  it  was 
time  to  open  the  campaign ;  the  Regent's  army  is  marching  upon 
Paris;  all  the  vassals  are  up  in  arms;  numerous  troops  of 
Jacques  must  be  approaching  Clermont  to  join  you.  Indeed,  I 


214  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

am  astonished  at  not  having  met  any  Jacques." 

"By  what  gate  did  you  enter  Clermont  ?  From  what  side  did 
you  cross  the  walls?" 

"By  the  gate  of  the  Paris  road.  It  was  dark  when  I  arrived 
and  sent  you  one  of  the  archers  who  arrested  me." 

"You  spoke  with  no  soldier?" 

"I  was  locked  up  alone  in  one  of  the  turrets  of  the  ram- 
part. I  could  speak  with  nobody.  I  communicated  only  with 
your  archers." 

"Proceed     .     .     .     with  your  message." 

"Marcel  wishes  to  know  what  your  plan  of  campaign  will  be 
when  your  troops  have  been  reinforced  by  eight  or  ten  thousand 
Jacques,  who,  according  to  our  information,  may  any  time  ar- 
rive in  Clermont." 

"We  shall  speak  about  that  presently  .  .  .  First  tell  me 
what  the  public  sentiment  is  in  Paris.  Are  more  rebellions 
feared?" 

"The  adversaries  of  Marcel  and  partisans  of  the  Regent  are 
very  active.  They  seek  to  mislead  the  population  by  imputing 
to  the  revolt  all  the  ills  that  the  city  suffers  from.  Royal  troops 
seized  Etamps  and  Corbeil  to  prevent  the  arrival  of  grains  in 
Paris  and  starve  out  the  city.  Marcel  took  the  field  with  the 
bourgeois  militia,  and  after  a  murderous  conflict  he  threw  the 
royalists  back  and  secured  the  subsistence  of  Paris.  But  the 
provost's  adversaries  are  redoubling  their  underhand  manoeuvres 
with  a  view  to  bring  a  portion  of  the  bourgeoisie  back  to  the 
Regent.  The  people,  more  accustomed  to  privations,  are  easily 
resigned ;  full  of  hope  in  the  future  that  is  to  bring  them  deliv- 
erance, they  weaken  neither  in  energy  nor  in  devotion  to  Marcel, 
especially  since  the  tidings  of  the  revolts  of  the  Jacques  reached 
Paris.  The  vassals  of  the  whole  valley  of  Montmorency  are  now 
in  revolt  .  .  .  " ;  but  suddenly  breaking  off,  Jocelyn  said : 
"Sire,  order  these  bonds  to  be  removed  from  my  hands;  they 
are  a  disgrace  to  me  and  to  you  .  .  .  You  treat  me  like  a 
prisoner !" 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  215 

"You  were  saying  that  the  'Begent's  partisans  are  active?  Is 
not  Maillart  among  the  leaders  in  that  movement?" 

"No  ...  at  least  not  openly.  The  avowed  leaders  of  the 
court  party  are  all  nobles ;  among  them  is  the  knight  of  Charny 
and  the  knight  James  of  Pontoise.  Prompt  and  resolute  action 
is  necessary.  Your  chances  of  reigning  over  Gaul  are  excellent 
if  you  come  to  the  help  of  the  Parisians,  take  the  field  against 
the  forces  of  the  Kegent,  and  utilize,  as  Master  Marcel  suggests, 
the  powerful  aid  offered  by  the  Jacquerie.  Next  to  the  clergy 
and  the  seigneurs,  there  are  no  more  implacable  enemies  of  the 
peasants  than  the  English.  Marcel's  purpose  in  encouraging 
the  insurrections  of  the  Jacques  and  organizing  their  bands  is 
above  all  to  hurl  them  in  mass  against  the  English  in  the  name 
of  the  country  that  the  invaders  are  ravaging  with  their  preda- 
tory bands,  and  to  drive  them  from  our  soil.  Triumph  is  as- 
sured if  the  present  enthusiasm  of  the  Jacques  is  utilized  by 
turning  it  into  that  sacred  channel  towards  the  safety  and  de- 
liverance of  the  country.  That  is  the  reason,  Sire,  why  Master 
Marcel  has  been  seeking  to  effect  the  junction  of  the  Jacques 
with  the  forces  that  you  command." 

"Our  friend  Marcel,"  Charles  the  Wicked  observed  caustically, 
"made  an  excellent  choice  of  allies  for  me  in  the  revolted  peas- 
ants !"  saying  which  he  rang  the  bell.  The  equerry  entered  and 
left  after  the  prince  had  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

"Sire/'  again  remonstrated  Jocelyn,  "your  manners  are  mys- 
terious. Are  you  hatching  some  other  plot  against  me?  You 
may  be  frank ;  I  am  in  your  power." 

"There  is  no  plot  hatching,"  cooly  answered  Charles  the 
Wicked,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "I  am  merely  taking  pre- 
cautions to  insure  the  quiet  and  calmness  of  our  interview  as 
becomes  people  Me  ourselves." 

"Sire,  have  I  perchance  failed  in  calmness  and  quiet?  My 
language  is  self-possessed." 

"So  far    ...    you  are  right    .     .    .     but  presently  your 


2i6  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

moderation  may  be  put  to  a  severe  test  .  .  .  my  precautions 
are  wise " 

The  entrance  of  two  other  robust  equerries  in  the  company 
of  the  prince's  confidante  interrupted  his  last  words,  and  with- 
out Jocelyn,  whose  hands  were  tied,  being  able  to  offer  any  ef- 
fective resistance,  he  was  thrown  on  the  floor,  where,  however, 
despite  his  being  pinioned,  he  resented  the  treatment  with"  Her- 
culean though  vain  efforts  to  disengage  himself  from  his  as- 
sailants. 

"By  God  I  You  are  a  Hercules  .  .  .  what  athletic  vigor 
you  display !  Am  I  wrong  if  I  take  precautions  against  the 
consequences  of  our  further  interview,  despite  your  assurances 
of  calmness  and  moderation  ?" 

N"ot  without  much  difficulty  the  three  equerries  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  binding  Jocelyn's  legs  as  firmly  as  his  arms.  When 
that  was  done,  Charles  the  Wicked  said:  "Place  the  envoy  on 
the  settee  near  the  window.  He  may  sit  up  or  lie  down,  as  he 
chooses  .  .  .  You  may  now  go." 

Again  alone  with  Jocelyn,  who  was  writhing  in  impotent  rage, 
the  prince  pursued :  "Our  interview  can  now  proceeed  peace- 
fully." 

"Oh,  Charles  the  Wicked,  every  day  you  strive  to  justify  your 
name !"  cried  Jocelyn.  "My  suspicions  did  not  deceive  me.  You 
have  some  infamous  act  of  treason  to  inform  me  of !" 

Nonchalantly  shrugging  his  shoulders,  the  prince  answered: 
"Vassal,  if  I  did  you  the  honor  of  fearing  you  I  would  have  had 
you  hanged  before  this  ...  If  I  was  betraying  Marcel  I 
would  be  at  Compiegne  beside  the  Eegent  .  .  .You  axe 
not  hanged,  and  I  am  not  at  Compiegne !  Let  us  now  tranquilly 
resume  the  conversation  that  was  interrupted  when  you  were 
speaking  about  the  Jacques  .  .  .  Well,  now,  the  Jacques 
did  come  in  bands  .  .  .  The  worthy  allies  of  your  friend 
Marcel  came " 

"Here  to  Clermont?" 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  217 

"They  came  here  ...  to  Clermont.  in  the  number  of 
eight  or  ten  thousand." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"Oh!  Oh!  ...  Where  are  they?"  Charles  the  Wicked 
answered  back  with  a  Satanic  leer.  "Where  are  they?  .  .  . 
That  is  an  embarrassing  question,  that  is !  .  .  .  Since  man 
is  man  it  has  been  the  despair  of  those  who  seek  to  fathom  the 
secret  of  where  we  go  .  .  .  when  we  leave  this  world 
.  .  .  They  are  where  we  all  shall  go  !" 

"What  is  that  ?    The  Jacques  ?— 

"They  are  where  we  all  shall  go  ...  Do  you  not  under- 
stand me?" 

"Dead !  ?"  cried  Jocelyn,  stupefied  with  terror.  "Dead  !  Mas- 
sacred !  My  God !" 

"Come,  keep  cool  .  .  .  Listen  to  the  details  of  the  ad- 
venture .  .  .  you  are  to  transmit  it  to  your  friends." 

"This  man  frightens  me!"  thought  Jocelyn,  a  cold  perspira- 
tion bathing  his  forehead.  "Is  it  some  trap  he  is  laying  for  me  ?" 

"The  Jacques  came/'  resumed  Charles  the  Wicked,  "those 
wild  beasts  that  pillage  and  burn  down  castles,  massacre  priests 
and  seigneurs,  outrage  women,  and  pitilessly  cut  the  throats  of 
children,  to  the  end,  as  these  devils  put  it,  of  annihilating  the 
nobility !" 

"Oh,  God  !"  cried  Jocelyn,  sitting  up,  "the  reprisals  of  Jacques 
Bonhomme  lasted  one  day  .  .  .  his  martyrdom  centu- 
ries ! » 

"Vassal !"  the  King  of  Navarre  haughtily  interrupted  Jocelyn, 
"the  rights  of  the  conqueror  over  the  conquered,  of  the  seigneur 
over  the  serf,  are  absolute  and  from  heaven !  .  .  .  A  villein 
or  peasant  in  revolt  deserves  death.  It  is  the  feudal  law." 

The  champion  shivered,  and  looking  fixedly  at  the  King  of 
Navarre  said:  "Charles  the  Wicked,  you  will  not  let  me  leave 
this  place  alive ;  you  would  be  a  lost  man  if  I  carried  your  words 
to  Marcel !" 

"You  will  leave  this  place  alive,"  coldly  answered  the  prince, 


2i8  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"and  besides  my  words,  you  will  report  the  facts  to  Marcel." 

A  prey  to  irrepressible  agony,  Jocelyn  fell  back  upon  the 
settee  and  Charles  the  Wicked  proceeded : 

"You  will  first  of  all  tell  Marcel  that,  however  wily  he  may 
be,  I  have  not  been  his  dupe.  The  chiefs  of  the  Jacques  whom 
he  sent  to  me  as  auxiliaries  were  expected  to  become  my  watch- 
ers, and,  if  need  be,  my  butchers  ...  if  I  deviated  from 
the  path  marked  out  by  that  insolent  bourgeois.  I  was  in  his 
hands,  said  he  to  me,  but  an  'instrument  that  he  would  break 
if  need  be'  ...  Very  well !  I  have  broken  one  of  Marcel's 
redoubtable  instruments  ...  I  have  annihilated  the  Jac- 
querie .  .  .  and  at  this  very  moment  my  friends,  Gaston 
Phoebus,  the  Count  of  Foix  and  the  Captal  of  Buch  are  crush- 
ing in  Meaux  the  last  coils  of  that  serpent  of  revolt  that  sought 
to  rise  against  the  nobility " 

"The  Jacquerie  crushed !  annihilated !"  exclaimed  Jocelyn, 
more  and  more  beside  himself.  But  returning  to  his  first  sus- 
picion, he  gathered  voice  to  say:  "Charles  the  Wicked,  you  are 
the  most  cunning  man  on  earth  .  .  .  you  are  laying  some 
trap  for  me  ...  If  the  Jacques  came  to  Clermont  to  the 
number  of  eight  or  ten  thousand,  you  were  not  in  command  of 
sufficient  forces  to  exterminate  them." 

"Sir  envoy,  you  are  too  hasty  in  your  conclusions.  Listen  first, 
you  will  then  be  able  to  judge.  I  promised  facts  to  you.  Here 
they  are.  Yesterday,  towards  noon,  I  was  apprised  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Jacques.  The  bourgeoisie  of  Clermont  and  the 
corporation  of  artisans,  infected  with  the  old  communal  leaven, 
went  out  ot  meet  the  malefactors  and  to  feast  them.  I  encour- 
aged their  plans,  and  while  the  Jacques  halted  in  the  valley 
near  Clermont,  three  of  their  chiefs  presented  themslves  at  the 
drawbridge  demanding  to  entertain  me." 

"What  were  their  names?" 

"William  Caillet  .  .  .  Adam  the  Devil  ...  and 
Mazurec  the  Lambkin  .  .  I  ordered  the  three  Jacques 
chiefs  to  be  brought  to  me ;  I  received  them  with  great  courtesy ; 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  219 

I  touched  their  hands,  called  them  my  comrades  and  gave  them 
fraternal  embraces.  We  agreed  that,  obedient  to  Marcel's  wishes, 
they  should  be  my  auxiliaries,  and  that  we  would  speedily  start 
on  the  march  to  Paris.  In  the  meantime  their  men  were  to  re- 
main encamped  in  the  valley.  After  issuing  their  orders,  to  this 
effect,  the  three  chiefs  conferred  with  me  upon  the  plan  of  cam- 
paign. So  said,  so  done.  The  three  chiefs  returned  to  their  en- 
campment to  order  matters  and  came  back  to  me.  My  first  act 
then  was  to  throw  all  three  into  prison.  I  knew  that,  deprived 
of  their  chiefs,  the  execrable  bandits  were  half  overcome.  I  then 
sent  one  of  my  officers,  the  Sire  of  Bigorre,  to  inform  the  Jacques 
that  at  the  conference  I  had  with  their  chiefs,  they  desired  that 
their  men  should  immediately  begin  to  exercise  themselves  with 
my  archers  and  cavalrymen,  in  order  to  accustom  themselves  to 
military  manoeuvres.  The  Jacques  tumbled  into  the  trap,  gladly 
accepted  the  proposition,  and  were  formed  into  battalions." 

Noticing  the  indignation  and  rage  of  Jocelyn,  that  betrayed 
themselves  through  his  involuntary  twitchings  in  his  bonds, 
Charles  the  Wicked  interrupted  his  narrative  for  a  moment  in 
order  to  interject  the  remark :  "I  congratulate  myself  more  and 
more  upon  having  had  you  bound  fast.  Waste  not  your  fury. 
It  will  soon  have  stronger  matter  upon  which  to  expend  itself 
.  .  .  I  now  proceed  .  .  .  The  bourgeois  and  artisan 
guilds  of  Clermont  had  tapped  a  large  number  of  barrels  to 
feast  their  friends  the  Jacques  with.  Their  hilarity  was  soon 
complete.  With  loud  cries  the  Jacques  called  for  their  first  ex- 
ercise in  military  marching.  The  Sire  of  Bigorre,  an  able  cap- 
tain, commanded  the  manoeuvre.  He  did  it  in  such  a  way  that, 
after  a  few  marches  and  countermarches,  the  Jacques  found 
themselves  huddled  and  crowded  together  like  a  herd  of  cattle 
at  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  an  easy  mark  to  my  archers  stationed 
on  the  surrounding  eminences,  while  my  cavalry  occupied  the 
only  two  issues  from  which  the  fleers  could  escape  out  of  the 
deep  hollow/' 


220  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

"You  princes  are  experts  at  massacres !"  cried  Jocelyn,  in  bit- 
ter despair. 

"It  was  a  regular  slaughter  of  wolves,"  answered  Charles  the 
Wicked.  "The  Jacques,  like  stupid  and  ferocious  brutes,  and 
full  of  vain-glory  at  parading  before  the  bourgeois  of  Clermont, 
put  out  their  chests,  and  carried  their  staves,  forks  and  scythes 
with  as  much  pride  as  if  they  carried  the  noble  arms  of  knight- 
hood; they  even  applauded  the  excellent  order  of  my  men-at- 
arms  who  held  the  crests  round  about  the  hollow  in  which  they 
were  penned  up.  Suddenly  the  clarions  gave  a  signal.  The 
music  greatly  delighted  the  revolted  varlets.  But  their  delight 
is  soon  ended.  At  the  clarion's  first  notes  my  archers  bent  their 
bows  and  a  hail  storm  of  murderous  bolts,  shot  by  my  soldiers 
from  above  into  the  compact  mass  of  Jacques  in  the  hollow, 
decimated  the  bandits.  A  panic  took  possession  of  the  savage 
herd;  the  brutes  sought  to  flee  by  the  two  issues  in  the  valley; 
but  there  they  found  themselves  face  to  face  with  my  five  hun- 
dred cavalrymen,  cased  in  iron,  who,  with  lances,  swords  and 
iron  maces  furiously  charged  upon  the  canaille,  while  my  archers 
continued  riddling  with  their  bolts  both  the  flanks  of  the  band 
and  those  who  sought  to  climb  up  the  hill  ...  It  was  a 
superb  slaughter  .  .  .  The  ground  was  heaped  with  the 
dead !" 

Jocelyn  uttered  a  hollow  groan.  Charles  the  Wicked  smiled 
satisfied  and  proceeded: 

"Xothing  more  cowardly  can  be  conceived  than  those  varlets 
after  their  first  exaltation.  Such  was  their  fright,  as  told  me  by 
the  Sire  of  Bigorre,  that  they  allowed  themselves  to  be  killed 
like  sheep ;  they  fell  upon  their  knees,  bared  their  throats  to  the 
swords,  their  breasts  to  the  arrows  and  their  heads  to  the  iron 
maces.  In  short,  all  those  whom  iron  did  not  pierce  were  smoth- 
ered under  the  corpses.  A  large  number  of  bourgeois  and  town 
plebs,  spectators  of  the  slaughter,  and  also  crowded  down  in  the 
valley,  shared  the  fate  of  their  comrade  Jacques  Bonhomme. 
Thus  with  one  blow  I  relieved  myself  of  the  peasants  and  of  the 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  221 

town  plebs  together  with  a  considerable  number  of  communal 
bourgeois.  I  now  hold  their  town  in  my  power,  and  keep  it. 
That  is  their  affair  with  me.  And,  now,  Sir  ambassador,  tell 
Marcel  in  my  name  no  more  to  mix  up  the  Jacques  in  our  oper- 
ations. There  are  now  few  of  these  ferocious  beasts  left;  more- 
over, they  are  evil  companions.  You  shall  presently  be  freed 
of  your  bonds  and  your  horse  shall  be  returned  to  you.  Should 
you  doubt  my  words  and  wish  to  make  sure  of  the  facts  before 
returning  to  Paris,  go  out  by  the  side  of  the  valley,  look  around, 
and,  above  all,  close  your  nose  .  .  .  the  carcasses  of  those 
accursed  Jacques  are  beginning  to  emit  rank  odors." 

Forgetting  in  his  rage  that  he  was  pinioned,  Jocelyn  turned  to 
rush  upon  Charles  the  Wicked.  The  prince,  however,  proceeded 
smiling  as  before : 

"Ungrateful  fellow  .  .  .  You  would  strangle  me  .  .  . 
Yet  you  ignore  how  generous  I  have  been  ...  I  have  saved 
the  lives  of  the  three  chiefs  of  that  band  of  raving  wolves  .  . 
Do  you  doubt  it?"  he  inquired,  answering  a  painful  sigh  that 
escaped  from  the  breast  of  Jocelyn,  whose  thoughts  ran  upon 
his  brother;  "you  question  my  clemency  and  generosity!'  ' 

"Coull  it  be  true?"  cried  Jocelyn,  yielding  to  a  vague  hope; 
"did  my  brother  Mazurec  really  escape?" 

"If  you  talk  calmly  instead  of  bellowing  like  a  staked  steer,  I 
shall  give  you  my  word  as  a  knight  that  you  will  see  your 
brother." 

"Mazurec  lives    ...     I  shall  see  him !" 

"He  lives  .  .  .  You  will  see  him  .  .  .  upon  the 
word  of  a  knight.  But  let  us  talk  sensibly.  We  must  now  con- 
sider the  means  by  which  Marcel  and  I  can  co-operate  in  the  ac- 
complishment of  our  common  projects." 

"Marcel  will  not  co-operate  with  the  butcher  of  so  many  in- 
nocent victims!"  cried  Jocelyn.  "Marcel  will  not  ally  himself 
with  you,  who  just  told  me  that  all  rebellious  vassals  deserve 
death!  .  .  .  The  fatal  alliance  he  entered  into  with  you, 
compelled  thereto  by  stress  of  circumstances,  is  now  forever  sun- 


222  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

dered.  It  has  been  a  terrible  lesson.  It  will  enlighten  the  people 
who  seek  the  support  of  princes  in  the  struggle  against  their 
oppressors." 

"You  slander  Marcel's  good  judgment,  whose  political  sagacity 
none  appreciates  more  than  I.  That  clothier  is  a  master-man. 
Do  you  know  what  he  will  answer  you  when,  back  to  Paris,  you 
will  have  reported  to  him  the  carnage  of  the  Jacquerie  ?" 

"Oh,  indeed  I  do!" 

"He  will  say  this:  "The  bourgeoisie  and  the  Jacquerie  were 
my  army;  I  expected  to  discipline  it  and  to  be  able  to  say  to 
the  King  of  Navarre:  "My  army  is  superior  to  yours;  accept 
my  conditions;  let  us  jointly  march  against  the  Kegent;  I  prom- 
ise you  his  crown  if  you  consent  to  submit  to  the  national  as- 
sembly as  the  supreme  power.  If  you  prefer  allying  yourself 
with  the  Regent,  do  so.  The  bourgeoisie  holds  the  towns,  the 
Jacquerie  the  country.  I  do  not  fear  you."  But  here  is  the  Jac- 
querie, the  bulk  of  my  army,  annihilated/  Marcel  will  thought- 
fully add:  'The  disaster  is  irreparable.  I  now  have  but  one  of 
two  courses  open:  either  submission  to  the  Regent,  and  deliver 
up  to  him  my  head  and  the  heads  of  my  friends,  or  promote  the 
projects  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  who  has  an  army  capable  of 
coping  with  the  royal  forces.  Accordingly,  instead  of  dictating 
terms  to  the  King  of  Navarre,  I  am  compelled  to  accept  his 
terms/  That  is  what  Marcel  will  say." 

"Marcel  will  never  betray  the  cause  to  which  he  has  devoted 
his  life." 

"So  far  from  betraying  the  cause  of  the  people,  he  will  insure 
the  execution  of  a  part  of  his  programme.  Do  you  take  me  for 
fool  enough  to  ignore  that,  inevitably — Marcel  said  so  to  me,  and 
he  spoke  truly — inevitably,  if  I  mount  the  throne,  I  am  com- 
pelled to  carry  out  the  larger  part  of  the  reforms  that  that  re- 
dresser  of  wrongs  has  been  pushing  so  many  years  ?  Would  not 
the  bourgeois  sooner  or  later  rebel  against  me  as  they  have  done 
against  the  Regent  if  I  did  not  grant  them  greater  freedom? 
Marcel  furthermore  said  to  me  with  his  usual  good  sense :  'You, 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  223 

Sire,  who  covet  the  crown,  will  see  in  every  reform  measure  only 
a  means  to  confirm  you  upon  the  throne ;  the  Eegent,  on  the  con- 
trary, considers  every  measure  of  reform  as  a  curtailment  of  his 
hereditary  sovereign  rights.' " 

"Charles  the  Wicked,  if  such  are  your  plans,  if  each  of  your 
words  is  not  a  lie  or  does  not  hide  some  trap,  why  did  you  mas- 
sacre the  Jacques?  Why  did  you  crush  that  popular  uprising? 
Was  it  not  bound  to  insure  the  freedom  of  Gaul  and  chase  away 
the  English?" 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  simpleton?  What  would  there  be  left 
for  me  to  reign  over  if  Gaul  were  entirely  free?  What  would 
become  of  the  nobility  ?  No,  no  !  Whether  I  like  it  or  not,  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  grant  a  large  number  of  reforms  that  may  satisfy 
the  bourgeoisie;  I  would  not  resign  myself  to  the  role  of  a  pas- 
sive instrument  of  the  national  assembly,  as  Marcel  proposes,  but 
I  shall  want  to  rule  jointly  with  the  assembly ;  and  I  would  put 
forth  all  my  efforts  to  end  the  English  war.  But  as  to  raising 
Jacques  Bonhomme  from  his  condition — not  at  all !  If  I  tried 
it  I  would  turn  every  seigneur  into  an  enemy.  Jacques  Bon- 
homme shall  remain  Jacques  Bonhomme.  Who  would  be  left  to 
fill  the  royal  treasury  if  I  enfranchised  Jacques  Bonhomme? 
Who  would  there  be  left  to  be  taxed  at  will  ?  The  enfranchise- 
ment of  Jacques  Bonhomme  would  be  the  end  of  both  nobility 
and  royalty !  .  .  .  Those  pests  of  bourgeois  franchises,  that 
issued  from  the  execrable  communes,  are  themselves  enough  of  a 
menace  to  the  throne  .  .  .  This  being  all  understood,  you 
will  say  to  Marcel  that  as  early  as  to-morrow  I  shall  begin  col- 
lecting the  several  divisions  of  my  army,  and  that  I  shall  march 
upon  Paris,  whose  gates  shall  be  open  to  me  .  .  .  Finally, 
in  order  to  setfle  this  and  some  other  matters,  you  will  tell  him 
fo  meet  me  at  Saint-Ouen,  where  I  shall  be  in  the  evening  of 
the  day  after  to-morrow." 

The  merciless  logic  of  Charles  the  Wicked  only  redoubled  the 
horror  that  he  inspired  Jocelyn  with,  and  the  latter  was  about 
to  give  vent  to  it  when  the  hour  of  seven  was  struck  from  afar 


224  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

by  the  parochial  church  of  Clermont.  With  his  usual  smile  the 
prince  observed : 

"I  promised  you  that  you  would  see  your  brother  .  .  . 
You  are  about  to  see  him.  And  I  want  to  let  you  know  how  I 
discovered  your  relationship.  I  ordered  a  fellow  who  is  all  ears 
to  be  concealed  in  a  secret  closet  of  the  prison  of  the  three  chiefs 
of  the  Jacquerie.  He  was  instructed  to  spy  upon  the  scamps'. 
In  that  way  he  heard  one  of  them  say  to  his  accomplices,  that  he 
regretted  he  could  not  see  his  brother  Jocelyn  the  Champion  and 
friend  of  Marcel  once  more.  When  I  this  morning  received  the 
letter  signed  'Jocelyn/  announcing  yourself  as  the  envoy  of  the 
provost,  I  easily  discovered  your  relationship  with  the  Jacques." 

"Where  is  my  brother?  Where  is  that  poor  Mazurec?  Have 
me  carried  before  him." 

"You  will  see  him!  Did  I  not  pledge  you  my  word  as  a 
knight?  .  .  .  But  do  not  forget  to  notify  Marcel  that  I 
expect  to  see  him  at  Saint-Ouen  day  after  to-morrow  evening. 
And  may  the  devil  take  you !" 

The  King  of  Navarre  left  the  room.  A  few  minutes  after  his 
departure  the  door  was  again  opened  and  Jocelyn  joyfully  turned 
expecting  to  see  his  brother  enter.  He  hoped  in  vain.  It  was  one 
of  the  equerries. 

"Your  master  assured  me  that  I  would  see  my  brother,  Mazu- 
rec," said  Jocelyn,  an  unaccountable  feeling  of  anxiety  creeping 
over  him. 

The  equerry  opened  the  window  near  which  the  champion  had 
been  deposited  and  pointing  to  it  said:  "Look  out  of  this  win- 
dow. Our  Sire  is  faithful  to  his  promise,"  and  he  withdrew, 
locking  the  door  after  him. 

Seized  with  a  terrible  presentiment,  Jocelyn  leaned  towards 
the  window  as  far  as  his  bound  limbs  allowed  him,  and  the  fol- 
lowing ghastly  scene  was  enacted  before  his  eyes : 

Below  the  window,  about  thirty  feet  down,  is  a  vast  square 
surrounded  with  houses  and  into  which  two  streets  run  out,  both 
of  which  are  barred  with  strong  cordons  of  soldiers  charged  to 


THE  IRON   T REVET.  225 

keep  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  from  entering  the  square.  At 
one  end  of  the  square  and  not  far  from  Jocelyn's  window  rises 
a  wide  scaffold.  In  the  middle  of  the  scaffold  stands  a  stake 
with  a  stool  attached,  at  either  side  of  which  is  a  block  on  which 
a  sharp-pointed  pile  is  firmly  fastened.  Several  executioners 
are  busy  on  the  scaffold.  Some  are  attaching  iron  chains  to  the 
center  stake;  others  are  standing  around  a  cooking-stove  turning 
on  the  burning  coals,  with  the  help  of  tongs,  one  of  those  iron 
trevets  or  tripods  used  by  the  peasants  to  cook  their  porridge  in 
the  fire-place.  The  trevet  begins  to  be  red  hot;  some  of  the 
executioners  engaged  near  the  stove  kneel  down  and  blow  upon 
the  fire  to  keep  up  the  flames. 

Presently,  trumpets  are  heard  approaching  from  the  direc- 
tion of  one  of  the  two  streets ;  the  cordon  of  soldiers  posted  at  the 
mouth  of  that  street  part  and  allow  a  passage  to  a  first  squad  of 
archers.  Between  this  and  the  second  squad,  William  Caillet, 
Adam  the  Devil  and  Mazurec  the  Lambkin  are  seen  marching 
with  firm  tread.  Mazurec  is  only  half  clad  in  an  old  hose  of 
goat-skin;  the  two  other  peasants  wear  the  ancient  Gallic 
"blaude"  or  blouse,  wooden  shoes  and  woolen  cap.  It  was  not 
thought  necessary  to  pinion  them.  Adam  and  Mazurec  have  each 
an  arm  on  the  shoulder  of  William  Caillet,  who  is  placed  between 
the  two.  Thus  joined  in  one  embrace,  the  three  men  marcTi 
with  heads  erect,  intrepid  looks  and  resolute  carriage  towards 
the  scaffold  erected  for  their  last  martyrdom. 

The  archers  who  compose  the  rear-guard  of  the  escort  spread 
themselves  over  the  place,  with  their  bows  ready  and  their  eyes 
searching  the  windows  of  the  surrounding  houses.  One  of  the 
lattices  clicks  open,  and  instantly  two  arrows  fly  and  disappear 
through  the  aperture,  followed  by  an  agonizing  cry  within.  The 
two  archers  immediately  re-fit  their  bows.  They  are  executing 
the  orders  they  received  from  their  chiefs.  The  town  people  oc- 
cupying the  houses  around  the  square  had  been  forbidden  to  ap- 
pear at  their  windows  during  the  execution  of  the  three  chiefs 
of  the  Jacquerie.  The  three  are  now  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 


226  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

Gasping  for  breath,  his  face  moist  with  cold  perspiration,  hor- 
rified and  desperate  at  the  sight  of  such  a  spectacle,  Jocelyn  feels 
his  head  swimming.  He  seems  oppressed  by  a  horrible  night- 
mare. He  distinguishes  the  faces ;  he  hears  the  voice  of  Mazurec, 
of  Adam,  of  Caillet  exchanging  a  supreme  adieu  on  the  scaffold, 
while  the  executioners  around  them  are  making  ready.  William 
iCaillet  takes  the  hands  of  Adam  and  Mazurec  and  cries  out  in 
a  strong  voice  that  reaches  the  champion's  ears : 

"Firm,  my  Jacques !  Firm  to  the  end !  Adam,  your  wife  is 
revenged !  .  .  .  Mazurec,  our  Aveline  is  revenged !  .  .  . 
Our  relatives  and  friends,  smothered  to  death  in  the  cavern  of 
the  forest  of  Nointel  are  avenged  .  .  .  The  executioners  are 
about  to  torture  and  put  us  to  death.  What  does  it  matter? 
Our  death  will  not  return  life  to  the  noble  dames  and  seigneurs 
who  fell  under  our  blows  in  the  midst  of  their  happiness.  They 
sorrowed  to  leave  life  .  .  .  not  so  with  us,  with  us  whose 
lives  are  brimful  of  sorrows  and  tears !  .  .  .  The  Jacquerie 
has  revenged  us !  .  .  .  Some  day  others  will  finish  what  we 
began !  .  .  .  Firm,  my  Jacques !  Firm  to  the  end !" 

"Oh,  Jacques  Bonhomme,  for  so  many  centuries  a  martyr!" 
responded  Adam  and  Mazurec  in  savage  enthusiasm.  "The  Jac- 
querie has  revenged  you!  .  .  .  Others  will  finish  what  we 
began!  .  .  .  Firm,  my  Jacques!  .  .  .  Firm  to  the 
end !" 

The  executioners,  engaged  in  their  last  dispositions,  feel  no 
concern  at  what  the  three  peasants  may  say.  Their  words  can 
find  no  echo  upon  that  deserted  place.  As  soon  as  the  iron  trevet 
is  at  white  head,  one  of  the  tormentors  cried :  "Ready !  We  are 
ready  for  the  job  !" 

The  arches  chain  the  three  Jacques  fast  to  the  platform  of 
the  scaffold  and  deliver  them  to  the  executioners.  These  seize 
William  Caillet  and  bind  him  down  upon  the  seat  attached  to  the 
stake  in  the  center  of  the  two  blocks  with  sharp-pointed  piles. 
Mazurec  and  Adam  are  stripped  of  their  clothes  except  their 
hose,  their  hands  are  tied  behind  their  backs  and  they  are  led 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  227 

id  the  two  blocks  One  of  the  executioners  pulls  off  the  woolen 
cap  that  covers  the  grey-headed  William  Caillet,  while  another 
seizes  with  a  pair  of  tongs  the  little  trevet,  turns  it  upside  down 
with  its  feet  in  the  air,  and  placing  the  white-hot  iron  on  the 
skull  of  the  aged  peasant  cries  out :  "I  crown  thee  King  of  the 
Jacques !" 

Caillet  bellows  with  the  insufferable  pain ;  his  hair  takes  fire, 
the  skin  of  his  forehead  shrivels,  runs  blood  and  rips  open  under 
the  pressure  of  the  incandescent  iron.  The  axes  of  two  other  exe- 
cutioners rise  over  Mazurec  and  Adam,  who  are  now  on  their 
knees  each  before  one  of  the  blocks. 

"Brother  I"  cries  Jocelyn  the  Champion,  overcoming  the  night- 
mare pressure  on  his  chest  that  suffocated  and  extinguished  his 
voice;  "Brother!" 

At  the  heart-rending  cry,  Mazurec  quickly  raises  and  turns 
hip  head  towards  the  window  from  which  the  cry  proceeded.  But 
that  very  instant  the  glint  of  the  descending  axe  of  the  execu- 
tions r  flashes  in  Jocelyn's  eyes ;  his  brother's  body  sinks  upon  and 
his  head  rolls  over  the  scaffold,  reddening  it  with  its  blood.  The 
champion  is  seized  with  a  vertigo;  his  heart  fails  him;  and  he 
falls  unconscious  upon  the  floor. 

When  Jocelyn  receovered  consciousness  he  found  himself  un- 
bound and  stretched  upon  a  pallet  of  straw  in  a  lower  hall.  An 
archer  mounted  guard  over  him  near  a  lamp.  It  was  night. 
Gathering  his  thoughts  as  if  he  had  awakened  from  some  trou- 
bled dream,  the  champion  soon  recalled  the  horrible  reality.  The 
archer  informed  him  that  he  was  found  unconscious  by  the 
equerries  of  the  prince  in  the  hall  of  the  tower,  had  been  trans- 
ported to  that  place,  and,  after  a  fit  of  delirium,  had  fallen  into 
profound  torpor.  The  archer  also  informed  him  that  his  horse 
and  arms  were  to  be  returned  to  him,  and  that  he  could  leave 
Clermont  whenever  he  wished.  Jocelyn  requested  the  archer  to 
take  him  to  one  of  the  officers  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  hoping  to 
obtain  permission  to  render  a  pious  homage  to  Mazurec.  The 
prince  granted  the  request,  and  Jocelyn,  leaving  the  castle,  pro- 


2a8  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

ceeded  to  the  place  of  the  execution.  By  the  light  of  the  moon  he 
mounted  the  scaffold  which  was  guarded  by  soldiers,  The  corpses 
of  the  three  Jacques  were  to  remain  exposed  during  the  whole 
of  the  next  day.  After  his  torture,  William  Caillet  had  been 
beheaded  like  his  two  companions.  His  head  and  theirs  were 
stuck  to  the  points  of  the  piles  that  surmounted  the  blocks.  Joce- 
lyn  religiously  kissed  the  icy  forehead  of  his  brother  Mazurec, 
and  turning  to  descend  the  scaffold,  his  foot  struck  against  the 
iron  trevet  which  had  fallen  down  after  the  decapitation  of  Wil- 
liam Caillet. 

"This  instrument  of  torture  and  witness  of  my  brother's  mar- 
tyrdom shall  join  the  relics  of  our  family,"  said  Jocelyn  the 
Champion  to  himself,  picking  up  and  concealing  the  trevet  under 
his  cloak.  He  then  hastened  to  his  horse  that  was  held  ready  at 
the  gate  of  Clermont  and  left  the  town,  hastening  to  rejoin 
Elienne  Marcel  in  Paris. 


CHAPTER  J. 

THE    WAYS   OF   ENVY. 

About  a  month  had  elapsed  since  the  death  of  William 
Caillet,  Adam  the  Devil  and  Mazurec  the  Lambkin. 

Denise,  the  niece  of  Etienne  Marcel  and  betrothed  to 
Jocelyn  the  Champion,  has  retired  to  a  large  apart- 
ment over  the  cloth  shop  of  the  provost  and  is  busy 
sewing  by  a  lamp.  Uneasiness  is  depicted  on  the  sweet 
face  of  the  young  maid.  From  time  to  time  she  stays 
her  needle  and  listens  towards  the  window  through 
which  the  confused  talk  and  hurrying  steps  of  large 
numbers  of  people  on  the  street  penetrate  into  the 
room.  Gradually  the  noise  on  the  street  subsided 
and  silence  reigned  again.  These  evidences  of  the 
excitement  that  agitated  Paris  greatly  alarmed  Denise. 

"My  God !"  she  exclaimed.  "The  tumult  augments.  My 
aunt  Marguerite  has  not  yet  returned.  Where  can  she 
have  gone  to?  Why  did  she  borrow  the  cloak  of  Agnes 
our  servant?  Why  the  disguise?  Why  did  she  conceal 
her  head  under  a  cowl?  Can  she  have  gone  to  the  town- 
hall,  where  my  uncle  and  Jocelyn  have  been  since  morn- 
ing?" At  the  thought  of  the  champion,  Denise  blushed, 
sighed  and  proceeded :  "Oh,  should  there  be  any  dan- 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  229 

ger,  Jocelyn  will  watch  over  my  uncle  Marcel  as  he  would  have 
done  over  his  own  father  .  .  .  But  the  prolonged  absence 
of  my  aunt  causes  me  mortal  anxiety  .  .  .  May  God  guard 
her  ...  " 

Agnes  the  Bigot,  the  old  domestic  of  the  house,  entered  the 
room  precipitately,  and  said  to  Denise  whom  she  had  known  since 
her  birth :  "For  the  last  hour  I  have  noticed  three  men  of  sin- 
ister looks  on  our  street.  They  never  stray  far  from  our  door. 
I  watched  them  through  the  lattices.  Off  and  on  they  consult 
in  a  low  voice  and  then  separate  again.  One  of  them  has  now 
planted  himself  on  the  left,  the  second  to  the  right  of  the  door, 
and  the  third  opposite  .  .  .  They  must  have  been  sent  to 
spy  upon  the  people  who  enter  and  leave  the  house." 

"Such  spyings  seem  to  me  ominous ;  I  shall  notify  my  aunt  as 
soon  as  she  returns." 

"I  think  this  is  she,"  answered  the  servant.  "I  heard  the  shop 
door  open  and  close ;  that  must  be  madam." 

Indeed  Marguerite  Marcel  soon  entered  the  room.  She  threw 
far  from  her  a  cowled  cloak  that  she  had  on,  and  said  to  Agnes : 
"Leave  us." 

The  provost's  wife  threw  herself  into  a  chair;  she  was  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue  and  emotion.  Her  dejection,  the  pallor  of 
her  visage  and  the  visible  palpitation  of  her  bosom  redoubled  the 
fears  of  Denise  who  was  about  to  interrogate  her  aunt,  when  the 
latter,  making  an  effort  over  herself  suppressed  her  agitation 
and  said  to  Denise  collectively : 

"Courage,  my  child ;  courage !" 

"Oh,  heaven  1  ...  Aunt  .  .  .  have  we  any  new  mis- 
fortune to  deplore?  What  has  happened  now?'1 

"No  .  .  .  not  at  present;  but  to-morrow;  perhaps  this 
very  evening."  Marguerite  stopped  short  for  a  moment,  and 
then  proceeded  with  still  greater  calmness  and  decision :  "I  paid 
a  tribute  to  weakness;  I  now  feel  strong  again;  I  am  now  pre- 
pared for  the  worst  ...  I  shall  at  least  know  by  resignation 
how  to  rise  to  the  hight  of  the  man  whose  name  I  bear !  Oh, 


230  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

never  was  an  honorable  man  more  unworthily  misunderstood,  or 
attacked  in  more  cowardly  fashion!" 

"Then  Master  Marcel  is  exposed  to  new  perils  ?" 

"My  presentiments  did  not  deceive  me.  What  I  have  just 
learned  by  myself  confirms  them.  A  plot  is  hatching  against 
Marcel  and  his  partisans.  Perhaps  his  own  life  and  the  lives  of 
his  friends  are  at  stake.  Let  the  worst  come !  At  the  hour  of 
danger  Marcel  will  do  his  duty  and  I  mine  ...  I  shall 
stand  by  my  husband  unto  death." 

Marguerite  pronounced  these  last  words  in  an  accent  of  such 
mournful  determination  that  a  cry  of  astonishment  and  fright 
escaped  from  Denise. 

"My  resolution  astonishes  you,  poor  child !"  resumed  Marcel's 
wife.  "To-day  you  see  me  full  of  courage !  And  yet  last  year 
.  .  .  even  as  late  as  yesterday  ...  I  admitted  to  you 
my  agony  and  the  fears  that  every  day  beset  me  at  the  mere 
thought  of  the  dangers  that  my  husband  ran.  I  then  minded 
only  his  fatigue,  I  then  only  objected  to  the  overwhelming  labors 
that  barely  left  him  two  hours  of  rest  a  night,  I  then  looked  back 
regretfully  to  the  days  when,  a  stranger  to  political  affairs,  he 
busied  himself  only  with  the  affairs  of  our  own  cloth  business. 
Our  then  obscurity  at  least  saved  us  the  sad  spectacle  of  the 
hatreds  and  the  envy  that  have  since  been  unchained  against  Mar- 
cel's glory  and  popularity." 

"Oh,  aunt,  you  speak  truly !  Do  you  remember  that  wicked 
and  envious  Petronille  Maillart?  Thank  God  she  never  came 
back  since  the  day  of  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace !  We  have  Been 
spared  her  presence !" 

"I  now  have  no  doubt  that  her  husband  is  one  of  the  leaders 
in  the  plot  that  is  hatching  against  Marcel." 

"Master  Maillart!  .  .  .  Uncle's  childhood  friend!  He 
who  only  the  other  day  was  so  loudly  protesting  his  affection  for 
him!" 

"Maillart  is  a  weak  man ;  he  yields  to  his  wife's  influence  over 
him,  and  she  is  consumed  with  envy.  She  envied  in  me  the  wife 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  231 

of  the  man  whom  the  idolizing  people  called  the  King  of  Paris. 
In  those  days  I  would  have  sacrificed  Marcel's  glory  to  his  re- 
pose ...  his  genius  to  his  safety !  The  slightest  popular 
commotion  made  me  fear  for  him  ...  I  was  then  weak  and 
cowardly  .  .  .  But  to-day,  when  he  is  pursued  hy  hatred, 
ingratitude  and  iniquity,  I  feel  strong,  brave  and  withal  proud 
of  being  the  wife  of  that  great  citizen.  I  feel  capable  of  prov- 
ing to  him  my  devotion  unto  death." 

"Oh,  may  heaven  prevent  that  your  devotion  be  put  to  so  ter- 
rible a  test !  But  how  did  you  learn  about  the  plot  ?" 

"I  determined  this  evening  to  put  an  end  to  my  suspense,  and 
to  ascertain  the  actual  facts  regarding  the  popular  sentiment 
towards  Marcel.  I  wrapped  myself  in  that  mantel  to  prevent 
being  discovered,  and  moved  among  numerous  groups  that  gath- 
ered in  our  quarter." 

"I  now  understand  it  all.    And  you  learned  directly     .     .     .   ' 

"Things  that  cause  me  to  foresee  an  imminent  and  fearful 
crisis.  The  life  of  Marcel  is  in  great  danger." 

"Good  God  !    May  you  not  be  mistaken  ?" 

"No !  The  privations,  the  sufferings  and  the  ills  that  follow 
in  the  wake  of  the  painful  conquest  of  freedom  are  laid  to  Mar- 
cel's door.  My  husband  is  at  once  attacked  by  the  emissaries  of 
the  court  party  Mid  by  those  of  the  party  of  Maillart.  These 
emissaries  circulate  among  the  poor  people,  who,  credulous  of 
evil  as  well  as  of  good,  are  fickle  in  their  affections,  and  whim- 
sical in  their  hatred.  It  is  harped  upon  to  them  that  all  the 
evils  of  these  days  would  have  been  avoided  if  Councilman  Mail- 
lart, 'the  true  friend  of  the  people/  had  been  listened  to ;  others 
preach  prompt  submission  to  the  Kegent  as  the  only  means  to  a 
speedy  end  of  our  public  disasters.  'What  does  the  Regent, 
after  all,  demand,'  ask  his  backers,  'What  does  he  exact  in  re- 
turn for  his  pardon  ?  Only  eight  hundred  thousand  gold  pieces 
for  the  ransom  of  King  John  and  the  heads  of  the  leaders  of  the 
revolt  and  of  its  principal  partisans!  Would  it  be  paying  too 


232  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

dearly  with  a  little  shame,  a  little  gold  and  a  little  blood  for  the 
peace  of  the  city  ?' " 

"Great  God !"  cried  Denise,  pale  and  trembling,  "who  are  the 
leaders  of  the  revolt  whose  heads  the  Regent  demands?" 

"They  are  Marcel  .  .  .  my  son  .  .  .  our  best  friends 
.  .  .  all  honorable  people,  devoted  to  the  public  weal,  adver- 
saries of  oppression  and  iniquity  .  .  .  uncompromising  ene- 
mies of  the  English,  who  are  ravaging  our  unhappy  land,  and 
who  would  have  put  Paris  to  fire  and  sword  were  not  Paris  pro- 
tected by  the  fortifications  that  it  owes  to  Marcel's  foresight  and 
zeal!  The  people  to-day  seem  to  have  forgotten  the  services  that 
my  husband  has  rendered  the  city;  they  seem  to  have  forgotten 
that  they  owe  to  Marcel  the  reforms  that  have  been  imposed  upon 
the  Kegent  and  which  guarantee  them  against  rapine  and  vio- 
lence from  the  side  of  the  court." 

"Can  it  be  possible  that  the  people  are  guilty  of  such  ingrati- 
tude against  Master  Marcel  ?" 

"My  husband's  soul  is  too  large,  his  spirit  too  just  to  have 
been  swayed  in  his  public  acts  by  expectations  of  gratitude.  How 
often  has  he  not  said  to  me:  'Let  us  do  what  is  right  and  just, 
such  acts  are  their  own  reward.'  Marcel  is  prepared  for  any 
emergency.  Nevertheless,  thinking  that  my  observations  might 
be  of  benefit  to  him,  I  stepped  into  the  house  of  our  friend  Simon 
the  Feather-dealer  who  lives  not  far  from  the  town-hall,  and  I 
wrote  to  my  husband  what  I  had  seen  and  heard.  My  letter  was 

carried  to  him  by  a  trusty  man "  but  observing  that  the  tears 

that  Denise  had  long  been  suppressing  now  inundated  her  face, 
Marguerite  interrupted  her  report,  inquiring  tenderly :  'Why  do 
you  weep,  dear  Denise?" 

"Oh,  aunt!  I  have  neither  your  strength  nor  your  courage 
.  .  .  The  thought  of  the  dangers  that  threaten  Master  Marcel 
.  .  .  and  our  friends  .  .  .  overwhelm  me  with  fear !" 

"Poor  child !  You  are  thinking  of  Jocelyn,  your  lover  ?  He 
is  a  true  friend  of  ours." 


THE  IRON   T REVET.  233 

"Should  there  be  a  riot  or  a  fight,  he  will  rush  into  the  thick- 
est ...  to  save  Marcel/' 

"I  regret,  for  the  sake  of  your  happiness,  dear  child,  that  I 
ever  called  you  to  Paris.  Had  you  not  come,  you  would  now 
be  living  peacefully  at  Vaucouleurs,  away  from  this  center  of 
trouble  and  strife." 

At  this  instant  Agnes  the  Bigot  re-entered,  preceding  a  per- 
son whom  she  announced,  saying:  "Dame  Maillart  has  come, 
she  assures  me,  in  order  to  render  you  a  great  service.  She  wishes 
to  speak  to  you  without  delay." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  see  her !"  cried  Marguerite,  impatiently.  "I 
detest  the  sight  of  that  woman.  I  refuse  to  receive  her !" 

"Madam,  she  says  she  came  to  render  you  a  great  service." 
answered  the  servant,  sorry  for  having  involuntarily  crossed  her 
mistress'  wishes.  "I  thought  I  was  doing  right  to  allow  her  to 
come  up ;  it  is  now  unfortunately  too  late : 

Indeed,  Petronille  Maillart  appeared  at  that  moment  at  the 
door  of  the  room.  Triumphant  and  barely  controlled  hatred  be- 
trayed itself  in  the  looks  that  the  councilman's  wife  cast  upon 
Marguerite.  But  assuming  a  mild  and  kind  voice  she  approached 
the  object  of  her  envy. 

"Good  evening,  Dame  Marcel ;  good  evening,  poor  Dame  Mar- 
cel." 

"This  affectation  of  sympathy  conceals  some  odious  perfidy," 
thought  Denise,  whose  face  was  still  wet  with  tears.  "I  do  not 
like  to  afford  this  wicked  woman  the  spectacle  of  my  sorrow." 

The  young  maid  left  the  room,  together  with  the  servant. 
Alone  with  the  councilman's  wife,  Marguerite  addressed  her 
dryly : 

"I  am  greatly  astonished  to  see  you  here,  madam ;  our  friendly 
relations  must  cease." 

"I  understand  your  astonishment,  poor  Dame  Marguerite,  see- 
ing we  have  not  met  since  the  day  of  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace. 
Oh,  Master  Marcel's  popularity  was  then  immense ;  people  called 


234  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

him  then  the  King  of  Paris  .  .  .  they  swore  by  him  .  .  . 
he  was  looked  upon  as  the  saviour  of  the  city " 

"Madam,  I  beg  you  to  speak  less  of  the  past  and  more  of  the 
present  .  .  .  Make  your  visit  short.  What  do  you  want 
of  me?" 

"First  of  all  to  beg  you  to  forget  the  little  quarrel  we  two  had 
on  the  day  of  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace.  Next  I  come  to  ren- 
der a  great  service  to  poor  Master  Marcel." 

"My  husband  excites  nobody's  pity  ...  he  does  not  need 
your  services." 

" Alack !  I  wish  I  could  leave  you  in  that  error,  Dame  Mar- 
guerite. But  I  must  tell  you  the  truth,  and  inform  you,  see- 
ing you  are  not  aware  of  it,  that  you  no  longer  are  the  'Queen  of 
Paris'  as  you  were  in  the  days  when  Master  Marcel  was  the 
King.  Even  at  the  risk  of  wounding  your  legitimate  pride,  I 
must  add  against  my  will  that  your  husband's  position  has  be- 
come desperate  ...  I  feel  distressed  at  the  sorrow  that 
overwhelms  you " 

"Your  excellent  heart  is  unnecessarily  alarmed,  Dame  Petron- 
ille.  Do  not  mind  my  sorrow." 

"Unfortunately,  however,  I  am  certain  of  what  I  say." 

"Madame,  I  greatly  mistrust  both  your  protestations  and  your 
confidences." 

"You  do  not  seem  to  be  informed  on  what  is  transpiring  in 
Paris." 

"I  know  that  there  are  wicked  and  envious  people  in  Paris." 

"I  know  you  too  well,  Dame  Marguerite,  to  imagine  that  a  wise 
and  discreet  person  like  yourself  would  reproach  me  with  being 
envious " 

"Indeed,  I  would  not  venture,  madam  ...  I  would  in- 
deed not  venture " 

"And  you  would  be  right.  What  is  there  in  your  present  fate 
to  be  envied.  A  storm  is  beating  down  upon  you." 

"Envious  people  do  not  need  much  to  be  envious  about.    They 


THE   IRON   TREET.  235 

envy  even  the  calmness  and  courage  derived  from  a  clean  con- 
science, when  misfortune  is  on  \" 

"You  admit  it  ?  .  .  .  Misfortune  has  come  upon  you  and 
your  husband?"  cried  the  councilman's  wife  triumphantly,  and 
for  a  moment  forgetting  her  role  of  hypocrite.  But  recalling  her- 
self, she  added  cajolingly:  "The  avowal  at  least  makes  me  hope 
that  you  will  accept  the  services  of  my  husband." 

Realizing  the  gravity  of  the  last  words  of  the  councilman's 
wife,  Marguerite  fixed  a  penetrating  look  upon  her  and  answered : 

"Did  Master  Maillart  send  you  to  offer  his  services  to  my  hus- 
band ?  Whence  such  solicitude  ?" 

"Have  the  two  not  been  friends  since  their  childhood  ?  Is  the 
friendship  of  youth  ever  forgotten?  You  have  earned  our  af- 
fection." 

"It  is  so  at  least  with  generous  hearts.  But  if  Master  Maillart 
wishes  to  render  a  service  to  my  husband,  why  should  he  send 
you,  madam  ?  Does  he  not  meet  Marcel  daily  at  the  town-hall  ?" 

"Since  last  evening,  neither  Maillart  nor  any  of  his  friends 
have  set  foot  at  the  town-hall  .  .  .  and  for  good  reasons. 
And  for  another  reason  he  would  not  set  foot  here.  That  is  why 
he  has  commissioned  me  to  come  and  offer  you  his  advice  and 
services." 

"What  does  he  advise     .     .     .     what  are  his  services?" 

"Maillart  advises  your  husband  to  secretly  leave  Paris  this 
very  night." 

"We  now  know  the  advice;  it  implies  a  great  resolution 
.  .  .  As  to  the  service  .  .  .  what  is  it  ?" 

"My  husband  offers  to  favor  Marcel's  flight  if  you  adopt  his 
advice." 

"And  how?" 

"Maillart  will  send  a  trusty  man  to  your  house  towards  mid- 
night. He  shall  accompany  your  husband.  He  is  to  wrap  him- 
self up  well  so  as  not  to  be  recognized,  and  confidently  follow 
our  emissary,  who  is  charged  to  see  him  safely  off  .  .  .  But 


236  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

your  husband  must  be  absolutely  alone,  otherwise  our  emissary 
will  refuse  to  conduct  him." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  in  his  eagerness  to  advise  and  serve, 
Master  Maillart  forgets  that  Marcel  and  the  town  council — the 
governors,  as  they  are  called — are  still  masters  of  Paris.  The 
captains  of  tens  and  the  guards  at  the  gates  still  obey  them.  If 
it  should  happen — a  thing  that  I  consider  impossible — that  my 
husband  should  contemplate  quitting  his  post  at  the  moment  of 
danger,  he  would  take  horse  with  some  of  his  friends,  and  would 
order  whatever  gate  of  Paris  he  chose  to  be  opened  .  .  .  He 
has  the  right  and  the  power  to  do  so." 

"You  would  be  right  if  Master  Marcel's  orders  would  be 
obeyed,  if  these  were  still  the  days  when,  lording  it  over  all  Paris, 
he  had  the  first  place  at  all  ceremonies  .  .  .  But  the  times 
have  changed,  good  Dame  Marguerite.  At  this  very  hour  in 
which  I  am  speaking  to  you,  your  husband's  authority  is  about 
to  be  ignored.  If  he  tried  to  order  one  of  the  gates  of  Paris  to 
be  opened,  his  action  would  confirm  the  rumors  concerning  his 
treason.  People  would  cry:  'Hold  the  traitor!  Death  to  the 
traitor!'  A  hundred  avenging  arms  would  rise,  and  Master 
Marcel  would  fall  under  their  blows  dead,  disfigured,  bleeding, 
butchered !  .  .  .  His  body  would  be  torn  to  pieces  .  .  . 
That  would  then  be  his  fate !" 

"Enough  !  Enough !"  stammered  Marguerite,  shivering  and 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  "This  is  horrible.  Hold  your 
tongue !" 

"Would  not  such  a  death  be  awful,  dear  Dame  Marguerite? 
Therefore,  in  order  to  save  his  friends  from  such  a  fate,  my  hus- 
band charged  me  to  come  and  offer  you  his  services." 

Despite  the  poor  opinion  in  which  she  held  Maillart  and  his 
wife,  whose  envy  she  was  aware  of,  Marguerite  did  not  imagine 
that  the  proposition  of  the  councilman,  one  of  Marcel's  oldest 
friends  and,  like  himself,  of  the  popular  party,  could  conceal  a 
trap  or  a  snare.  Marguerite  even  took  it  for  a  token  of  sincere 
pity,  easily  supposable  from  the  part  of  envious  people  at  the 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  237 

moment  of  their  triumph  over  a  rival.  Moreover,  did  not  the 
state  of  public  opinion  in  Paris,  on  which  Marguerite  had  that 
very  evening  sought  to  assure  herself,  but  too  well  confirm  the 
words  of  the  councilman's  wife  on  the  subject  of  Marcel's  in- 
creasing unpopularity  ?  On  the  other  hand,  Marguerite  was  too 
well  acquainted  with  her  husband's  force  of  character  and  his 
energy  not  to  feel  assured  that,  unless  he  was  reduced  to  utter 
extremities,  he  never  would  decide  to  leave  Paris  as  a  fugitive. 
Nevertheless,  the  hour  of  that  terrible  extremity  might  arrive. 
In  that  case  Maillart's  offer  was  not  to  be  despised.  These 
thoughts  rapidly  flashed  through  Marguerite's  mind.  She  re- 
mained pensive  and  silent  for  a  moment,  while  the  councilman's 
wife  observed  her  closely  and  anxiously  awaited  her  answer. 

"Dame  Maillart,"  finally  answered  Marguerite,  "I  wish  to  be- 
lieve, I  believe  in  the  generous  impulses  that  dictated  the  tender 
of  services  that  you  have  just  made  me  in  the  name  of  your 
husband." 

"Then,  it  is  understood  ?"  said  the  councilman's  wife,  with  an 
eagerness  that  should  have  excited  Marguerite's  suspicion.  "The 
emissary  will  be  here  at  midnight.  Let  your  husband  follow  him 
without  taking  any  companion  ...  He  must  have  no  escort 
.  .  .  That  is  understood." 

"Allow  me,  Dame  Petronille.  I  can  not  go  so  far  as  to  ac- 
cept your  offer  in  my  husband's  name.  He  alone  is  the  judge  of 
his  conduct.  He  gave  me  reasons  to  believe  that  he  would  be 
here  this  evening  to  take  a  few  hours'  rest.  If  my  expectations 
prove  true,  I  shall  soon  see  him  ...  I  shall  notify  him  of 
Master  Maillart's  proposition.  Ask  your  husband  to  send  his 
emissary  here  at  midnight.  My  husband  will  decide." 

"He  should  not  hesitate  a  moment.  Believe  me,  poor  Dame 
Marguerite,  you  must  exert  your  whole  influence  upon  your  hus- 
band, and  decide  him  to  avail  himself  of  the  one  opportunity  of 
escape  left  to  him.  He  is  in  great  danger." 

At  this  juncture  Denise  entered  the  room  affecting  great  hurry 
and  said :  "Aunt,  Dame  Alison  wishes  to  see  you  privately ;  she 


238  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

has  no  time  to  wait/'  To  these  words  Denise  added  a  significant 
gesture  conveying  to  Marguerite  the  hint  to  seize  the  opportunity 
for  putting  an  end  to  the  visit  of  the  detested  Dame  Petronille. 

Marguerite  understood  the  thoughts  of  her  niece,  and  said  to 
the  councilman's  wife:  "Please  excuse  me,  there  is  a  visitor  I 
must  receive." 

"Adieu,  good  Dame  Marcel,"  said  the  councilman's  wife,  tak- 
ing a  step  towards  the  door.  "Fail  not  to  remember  my  advice 
.  .  .  We  must  know  how  to  resign  ourselves  to  what  can  not 
be  prevented  .  .  .  The  days  follow,  but  do  not  resemble  each 
other  .  .  .  For  the  rest  you  understand  me.  Good  evening, 
dear  Dame  Marguerite,  I  wish  you  happier  days.  May  God  pre- 
serve you  and  yours !" 

As  always,  not  envy  here  followed  hatred,  but  hatred  envy. 
Born  of  the  rankling  enviousness  that  the  unworthy  entertain  for 
the  worthy,  Petronille  Maillart  was  consumed  with  malevolent 
hatred  for  the  man  and  woman  whose  ruin  she  was  plotting. 
Casting  upon  Marguerite  the  furtive  look  of  a  viper,  Dame  Pe- 
tronille took  her  leave. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

LAST    DAY    AT    HOME. 

The  handsome  tavern-keeper,  who  now  entered  in  response  to 
the  summons  of  Denise,  looked  neat  and  prim  as  ever.  Her  beau- 
tiful black  eyes,  Tier  white  teeth,  her  comeely  shape,  above  all  her 
golden  heart — all  justified  the  partiality  of  the  student  Rufin  for 
this  amiable  and  honorable  woman  to  the  total  eclipse  of  Margot. 
Finally,  thanks  to  Jocelyn,  Alison  had  not  only  saved  her  honor 
from  the  clutches  of  Captain  Griffith,  but  also  quite  a  round 
sum  of  gold,  sewed  in  her  skirt,  from  the  rapacity  of  the  English. 
Jocelyn  the  Champion,  once  Alison's  defender  against  Simon 
the  Hirsute  and  later  her  liberator,  when  exposed  to  the  liber- 
tinage  of  the  bastard  of  Norfolk,  had  inspired  her  with  senti- 
ments more  tender  than  merely  those  of  gratitude.  Nevertheless, 
apprized  of  the  engagement  of  Denise  and  Jocelyn,  the  young 
woman  struggled  bravely  against  the  promptings  of  her  heart, 
and  seeking  to  free  her  mind  from  the  affectionate  thoughts  that 
crowded  upon  her,  had  found  pleasure  in  observing  that,  despite 
his  turbulence,  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher  lacked  neither  de- 
votion, nor  heart,  nor  brightness,  nor  yet  external  attractions. 
Thus,  since  the  day  when,  fleeing  from  the  horrors  of  the  war 
that  desolated  Beauvoisis,  she  had  taken  refuge  in  Paris  near 
the  family  of  the  provost  to  whom  she  had  been  recommended 
by  Jocelyn,  Alison  often  met  the  student  in  her  little  lodgings 
at  the  inn  where  she  housed,  and  it  often  occurred  to  her  that, 
despite  his  name,  which  sounded  particularly  unpleasant  in  a 
tavern-keeper's  ear,  Rufin  the  Tankard -smasher  might  after  all 
not  make  a  bad  husband.  Moreover,  her  vanity  was  not  a  ITUlo 
flattered  by  the  hope  of  herself  opening  a  tavern,  whose  principal 
customers  would  be  the  students  of  the  University  of  Paris.  Re- 


240  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

ceived  with  kindness  by  Marguerite  and  Denise,  Alison  enter- 
tained for  both  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude.  On  this  evening  she 
had  hastened  to  Marcel's  house  in  the  hope  of  being  of  service 
to  them.  Observing  the  signs  of  uneasiness  depicted  on  the  tav- 
ern-keeper's face,  Marguerite  said  to  her  affectionately,  taking 
her  hands : 

"Good  evening,  dear  Alison  .  .  .  you  look  alarmed 
.  .  .  .  Tell  us  the  cause  of  your  trouble." 

"Oh,  Dame  Marguerite  !  I  have  but  too  much  reason  for  being 
alarmed,  if  not  for  myself,  yet  for  you";  and  interrupting  her- 
self she  added :  "First  of  all,  and  so  as  not  to  forget  the  circum- 
stance, I  must  warn  you  that  coming  in  I  saw  three  men  envel- 
oped in  cloaks  who  seem  to  be  in  hiding  on  some  ambuscade. 
These  men  seem  to  have  evil  intents." 

"Agnes,  our  servant,  also  noticed  them,"  said  Denise ;  "we  are 
forewarned." 

"They  are  no  doubt  spies,"  replied  Marguerite.  "But  Marcel 
need  not  fear  the  consequences  of  being  spied  upon.  Whatever 
he  does  is  in  the  public  interest,  and  none  of  his  acts  need  con- 
cealment. Nevertheless,  seeing  that  hatred  now  dogs  his  steps 
.  .  .  the  information  may  be  useful." 

"It  is  distressing  to  me,  Dame  Marguerite,  to  bring  what  may 
be  bad  news  to  you,  who  received  me  so  kindly  upon  my  arrival 
from  Beauvoisis." 

"Our  friend  Jocelyn  recommended  you  to  us ;  he  informed  us 
of  your  misfortunes  and  of  your  tender  care  of  that  ill-starred 
Aveline.  Our  good  wishes  in  your  behalf  were  but  natural.  But 
what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"This  evening  I  was  looking  out  of  the  window  of  my  room  at 
the  tumult  of  the  people  in  the  street,  because  you  must  know 
there  is  an  unusual  agitation  this  evening  on  the  streets  of  Paris, 
when  a  young  man  all  out  of  breath,  handed  me  this  note  from 
Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher." 

Alison  drew  from  her  corsage  a  slip  of  paper  which  she  passed 
to  Marguerite,  who  nervously  seizing  it  began  to  read  it  aloud : 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  241 

"As  true  as  Venus  in  her  Olympian  beauty  ..." 
"Skip  that,  skip  that,  Dame  Marguerite !  Begin  at  the  fourth 
or  fifth  line,"  said  Alison,  blushing  and  smiling  at  once.  "Those 
are  but  flourishes  that  Master  Kufin  amuses  himself  with.  Lose 
no  more  time  over  them  than  I  did  myself  .  .  .  That  worthy 
fellow  should  have  abstained  from  his  roguishness  when  writing 
upon  such  serious  subjects." 

After  having  run  her  eyes  over  the  first  lines  of  the  epistle, 
during  which  the  student  displayed  his  amorous  and  mythological 
vein,  Marguerite  arrived  at  the  essential  portion  of  the  missive : 
"...  Hurry  to  the  house  of  Master  Marcel ;  if  he  is  not 
at  home,  tell  his  honored  wife  to  have  him  warned  not  to  leave 
the  town-hall  without  a  strong  escort.  I  am  on  the  track  of  a 
plot  against  him.  So  soon  as  I  shall  have  positive  proofs  I  shall 
go  either  to  Master  Marcel's  house,  or  to  the  town-hall  to  inform 
him  of  my  discovery.  Above  all,  let  him  be  on  his  guard  against 
Councilman  Maillart.  He  has  no  more  mortal  enemy.  He  ought 
to  order  his  arrest  on  the  spot  .  .  .  just  as  I  would  on  the 
spot  have  your  heart  for  my  prison  whose  turnkey  is  the  gentle 
bantling  Cupid." 

"Skip  all  that  also,  Dame  Marguerite;  those  are  some  more 
flourishes.  There  is  nothing  more  of  importance.  I  am  not  a 
little  surprised  at  seeing  master  student  mix  up  folly  with  seriou^. 
matter  in  that  manner." 

"Serious,  indeed !  Very  serious !  .  .  .  This  letter  in- 
creases my  apprehensions,"  answered  Marguerite,  trembling;  and 
recalling  her  recent  conversation  with  the  councilman's  wife,  she 
thought  to  herself:  "Could  the  councilman's  offer  be  a  snare? 
.  .  .  And  still  I  can  not  yet  accept  the  existence  of  quite  so 
horrible  a  plot !" 

"My  God !"  cried  Denise  bitterly,  "and  yet  uncle,  despite  all 
our  presentiments,  always  answers  us  when  we  mention  to  him 
our  suspicions  regarding  Maillart:  'He  is  not  a  bad  sort  of  a 
man ;  only  he  is  wholly  under  the  influence  of  his  wife,  who  is 
devoured  with  vanity.  Do  not  judge  him  unjustly/  " 


242  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"Dear  Alison/'  rejoined  Marguerite  after  a  few  moments'  re- 
flection, "did  you  question  the  messenger  who  brought  you  the 
letter?" 

"Indeed,  madam  ...  I  asked  where  he  had  left  Master 
Rufin." 

"What  answer  did  he  make  ?" 

"That  the  student  was  in  a  tavern  near  the  arcade  of  St.  Nich- 
olas when  he  handed  him  the  letter." 

As  Alison  was  uttering  the  last  words,  two  men  wrapped  to  the 
eyes  in  cloaks  entered  the  room.  Marguerite  immediately  recog- 
nized her  husband  and  Jocelyn  the  Champion.  As  they  were 
throwing  off  their  wraps,  Marguerite  cried :  "At  last,  here  you 
are!"  and  unable  longer  to  control  her  emotions,  she  threw  her 
arms  around  Marcel's  neck,  while  Denise  gave  her  hand  to  her 
lover,  who  respectfully  took  it  to  his  lips.  Under  bis  armor 
Jocelyn  wore  a  black  jacket,  a  piece  of  clothing  that  he  had 
assumed  since  the  day  that  he  witnessed  the  execution  of  Mazurec 
the  Lambkin.  Sad  and  pale,  the  face  of  Jocelyn  betokened  the 
grief  that  beset  his  mind.  After  tenderly  embracing  Marcel, 
who  effusively  returned  her  caresses,  Marguerite  said,  delivering 
to  him  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher's  letter : 

"My  friend,  take  notice  of  what  this  latter  contains ;  our  good 
Alison  just  brought  it  to  me  in  great  haste." 

Marcel  read  the  letter  in  a  low  voice  in  the  midst  of  the  pro- 
found silence  of  all  present,  while  Marguerite,  his  niece  and  Ali- 
son attentively  watched  his  face.  He  remained  calm  throughout. 
He  even  smiled  at  the  mythological  flourishes  of  the  student. 
WJien  he  had  finished  the  letter  he  returned  it  to  Alison,  saying 
kindly : 

"I  thank  you  for  your  anxiety  to  bring  me  the  missive,  Dame 
Alison ;  our  friend  Rufin  is  wrongly  alarmed." 

"Nevertheless,  my  friend,"  put  in  Marguerite  with  intense 
seriousness,  "what  about  the  plot  that  the  student  mentions,  and 
on  the  track  of  which  he  says  he  is?" 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  243 

"Kufin  must  have  exaggerated  to  himself  the  importance  of 
some  insignificant  fact,  my  dear  Marguerite." 

"But    .     .     .     did  you  notice  what  he  said  about  Maillart?" 

"Last  evening  Maillart  affectionately  shook  me  by  the  hand 
when  leaving  the  town-hall  after  a  discussion  in  which  his  opin- 
ion differed  from  mine.  'Men/  said  he  to  me,  'may  differ,  but 
the  bonds  of  old  friendship  are  indissoluble/  he  added. 

Jocelyn  confirmed  the  episode,  but  Marguerite  insisted,  the 
disclosures  of  the  student  having  gone  far  to  confirm  her  sus- 
picions against  the  councilman.  "Marcel,"  said  the  alarmed  wife, 
"Maillart' s  wife  was  here  this  evening  .  .  .  she  came  to  pro- 
pose a  place  of  refuge  for  you  in  case  of  danger " 

"The  generous  offer  does  not  surprise  me." 

"A  man  is  to  come  here  this  midnight  .  .  .  you  are  to 
follow  him  alone  .  .  .  well  wrapt  in  your  mantle,"  said 
Marguerite  with  emphasis.  "Alone  ...  do  you  hear,  Mar- 
cel? .  .  .  and  he  is  to  conduct  you  to  a  place  whence  you 
shall  be  able  to  flee  without  danger." 

"This  is  too  much  kindness/'  Marcel  answered  with  a  smile. 
"I  am  grateful  for  the  offer;  I  do  not  think  of  fleeing,  that  is 
certain  .  .  .  We  never  have  been  so  near  the  triumph." 

"What !"  cried  Marguerite  encouraged  by  new  hope.  "Is  that 
true  ?  And  yet,  why  all  this  commotion  .  .  .  Why  this  tu- 
mult in  Paris  .  .  .  why  these  alarming  rumors?"  and  her 
apprehensions  that  for  an  instant  had  been  allayed  by  the  re- 
assuring words  of  her  husband,  again  regaining  the  upperhand, 
she  proceeded  sadly :  "The  precaution  that  you  as  well  as  Joce- 
lyn took  of  enveloping  yourselves  in  these  cloaks,  no  doubt  for 
the  purpose  of  not  being  recognized  on  the  street — all  these 
things  contribute  to  make  me  fear  that  you  are  deceiving  your- 
self ...  or  that  out  of  consideration  for  me,  you  are  con- 
cealing the  true  state  of  things." 

"Aunt  forgot  to  tell  you  that  three  men  seem  to  have  been 
watching  our  house  all  evening/'  said  Denise,  and  it  did  not 
escape  her  that  Jocelyn  seemed  struck  by  the  circumstance. 


244  THE  IRON   TREVET, 

"And  I  also/'  observed  Alison,  "noticed  at  entering  that  there 
seemed  to  be  three  spies  near  the  house.  Their  presence  is 
strange." 

"My  friend,"  said  Marguerite,  seeking  to  detect  from  her  hus- 
band's face  whether  his  feeling  of  safety  was  real  or  assumed,  "I 
sent  you  this  evening  a  note  that  I  wrote  to  you  at  our  friend's, 
Simon  the  Feather-dealer.  I  there  informed  you  of  my  impres- 
sions on  my  personal  observations,  and  urged  you  to  take  pre- 
cautionary measures." 

"I  received  your  letter,  my  dear  wife,"  said  Marcel,  tenderly 
taking  Marguerite's  hands.  "You  trust  me,  do  you  not  ?  .  .  . 
Very  well;  believe  me  when  I  assert  that  your  fears  are  un- 
founded. Better  than  anybody  else  do  I  know  what  is  going  on 
in  Paris  this  evening.  Are  our  enemies  active?  I  let  them 
talk,  certain  that  I  shall  lead  my  work  to  a  happy  issue,  as  my 
device  proclaims.  For  the  rest,  is  not  my  presence  here  the  best 
proof  of  my  confidence  in  the  situation?  Upon  receipt  of  your 
letter  I  decided  to  leave  the  town-hall  for  a  moment  in  order  to 
come  and  calm  your  fears,  to  comfort  you,  and  also  to  beg  of 
you  not  to  alarm  yourself  if  it  should  happen  that  I  do  not  re- 
turn home  all  day  to-morrow  .  .  .  To-morrow  grave  mat- 
ters will  be  decided.  And  to  sum  up,"  Marcel  proceeded,  cheer- 
fully, "as  I  mean  to  overthrow  all  your  objections,  you  dear,  timid 
soul,  I  shall  add  that  it  was  partly  due  to  my  modesty  that  I  en- 
veloped myself  in  that  cloak.  I  meant  to  reach  here  and  return 
without  being  stopped  twenty  times  on  the  street  by  the  cheers 
of  the  people.  Despite  the  envy  and  hatred  of  some  of  the  bour- 
geois partisans  of  the  Regent,  Marcel  continues  to  be  loved  by  the 
people  of  Paris." 

"And  you  would  not  doubt  it,  Dame  Marguerite,"  added  Joce- 
lyn,  "if  you  had  heard,  as  I  did,  the  addresses  delivered  to-day 
by  the  trades  guilds,  all  of  which  came  to  pledge  their  loyalty  to 
Master  Marcel." 

Jocelyn's  words,  the  cheerful  and  serene  physiognomy  of  the 
provost  and  the  tone  of  conviction  that  marked  his  words,  some- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  245 

what  allayed  the  fears  of  Marguerite  and  Denise,  the  latter  of 
whom  said  to  Marcel:  "Your  presence  suffices  to  encourage  us, 
dear  uncle,  just  as  the  sight  of  the  physician  sometimes  suffices 
to  allay  the  pains  of  a  patient." 

"My  worthy  Jocelyn,"  Marcel  said,  cheerfully,  turning  to  the 
champion,  "that  applies  to  you  as  much  as  to  me  .  .  .  you 
happy  and  beloved  lover !" 

"Dear  Denise/'  said  the  champion  to  the  blushing  maid,  "the 
mourning  for  my  poor  brother  has  put  off  our  marriage  .  .  . 
I  do  not  very  much  regret  the  circumstance  when  I  consider  that 
in  these  days  of  turmoil  I  could  not  have  devoted  all  my  time  to 
you.  But  believe  Master  Marcel;  better  days  are  approaching. 
Need  I  tell  you  that  they  are  the  subject  of  my  ardent  wishes, 
seeing  that  they  will  witness  our  union?" 

"Dame  Alison,"  cordially  put  in  Marcel,  "since  marriage  is  the 
topic  of  the  conversation,  take  pity  on  the  amorous  martyrdom 
of  poor  Eufin  .  .  .  He  is  a  good  and  loyal  heart,  despite 
some  transports  of  youth  that  earned  for  him  the  nickname  of 
'Tankard-smasher/  I  feel  quite  sure  that  the  wholesome  in- 
fluence of  a  kind  and  honorable  woman  like  yourself  would  make 
an  excellent  husband  of  him.  It  would  be  a  double  pleasure  to 
me  to  see  you  and  Rufin,  Denise  and  Jocelyn,  approach  the  altar 
the  same  day.  What  say  you  ?" 

"That  needs  thinking  over,"  answered  Alison,  meditatively. 
"That  peeds  much  thinking  over,  Master  Marcel.  For  the  rest," 
she  proceeded,  with  a  blush  and  a  sigh,  "I  say  neither  'yes'  nor 
'no'  ...  I  wish  to  consult  Dame  Marguerite." 

"Eufin's  prospects  are  good,"  rejoined  the  provost.  "The 
woman  who  says  not  nay  ever  has  a  strong  wish  to  say  aye." 

"Marcel  would  not  be  so  cheerful  and  jovial  did  he  actually 
believe  himself  and  his  partisans  on  the  eve  of  grave  dangers," 
thought  Marguerite,  now  more  and  more  reassured  by  the  turn 
of  gaiety  her  husband's  words  had  taken.  "I  must  have  attached 
exaggerated  importance  to  what  I  heard  this  evening.  My  hus- 
band is  right.  Even  when  his  popularity  is  strongest,  calumny 


246  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

pursues  him.  Maillart  may  be  yielding  simultaneously  both  to 
envy  and  the  more  generous  feelings  prompted  by  old  friendship. 
He  may  believe  in  the  loss  of  popularity  by  Marcel  and  enjoy 
the  idea,  and  yet  wish  to  save  him.  That  wicked  Petronille  has 
merely  thrown  poison  into  an  offer  that,  in  itself,  is  honorable. 
If  it  were  otherwise,  Maillart  would  be  the  vilest  of  men,  and 
that  I  am  not  ready  to  believe.  Such  a  degree  of  perversity  would 
exceed  the  bounds  of  possibility " 

"Denise,"  said  the  provost,  kissing  his  niece  on  the  forehead, 
"order  a  lamp  to  be  taken  into  my  cabinet.  I  have  some  docu- 
ments to  finish."  Turning  to  his  wife,  whom  he  also  kissed  on 
the  forehead :  "I  shall  see  you  again  before  I  leave,"  and  taking 
Jocelyn  by  the  arm :  "Come,  we  have  work  to  attend  to." 

Denise  hastened  to  carry  a  lamp  into  Marcel's  cabinet,  where 
she  left  her  uncle  and  her  lover  closeted  togther. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DARKENING  SHADOWS. 

Once  alone  in  his  cabinet  with  Jocelyn,  Marcel  sank  into  pro- 
found pensivness.  The  cheerful  serenity  that  had  pervaded  his 
bearing  during  the  conversation  with  his  wife  was  now  replaced 
by  an  expression  of  melancholic  seriousness.  For  a  few  min- 
utes he  contemplated  in  silence  his  studious  retreat,  the  witness 
of  the  meditations  of  his  riper  years.  Finally,  leaning  over  a 
large  table  that  was  strewn  with  parchments,  he  emitted  a  sigh 
and  said  to  Jocelyn: 

"How  manj-  nights  have  I  not  spent  here,  elaborating  by  the 
light  of  this  little  lamp  the  plans  of  reform  that  some  day,  hap 
now  what  hap  may,  will  be  the  solid  basis  for  the  emancipation 
of  our  people,  the  evangelium  of  the  rights  of  the  citizen !  .  .  . 
Here  have  been  spent  the  happiest,  the  most  beautiful  days  of 
my  life !  .  .  .  What  a  pure  joy  did  I  not  then  taste !  .  .  . 
Sustained  by  my  ardent  love  for  justice  and  right,  and  enlight- 
ened by  the  lessons  of  the  past,  I  soared  upward  to  the  sub- 
limest  theories  of  freedom !  .  .  .  I  then  was  ignorant  of  the 
deceptions,  the  evils,  the  delays,  the  struggles,  the  storms  that 
the  practice  and  application  of  truth  inevitably  engender! 
.  .  .  I  then  saw  truth  in  its  radiant  simplicity !  .  .  .  I 
did  not  then  reckon  with  human  passions!  .  .  .  But  that 
matters  not!  .  .  .  Truth  is  absolute  .  .  .  Sooner  or 
later  it  imposes  itself  upon  humanity  that  ever  is  on  the  march, 
progresses  and  improves  itself  .  .  . 

Jocelyn  listened  to  Marcel  in  mute  reverence.  He  now  beheld 
that  illustrious  man  wrapt  with  pensive  brow  in  ever  deeper  medi- 
tation. A  few  instants  later,  Marcel  stepped  towards  an  oaken 
trunk  that  age  had  blackened.  He  opened  it,  took  out  several 


248  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

rolls  of  parchment,  lay  them  on  the  table,  pushed  a  stool  near 
and  sat  down  to  write.  His  virile  and  characterful  face  betrayed 
by  degrees  increasing  sadness,  and,  to  Jocelyn's  surprise  several 
tears  dropped  from  the  provost's  eyes  upon  the  lines  that  he  was 
writing.  Tears  from  so  great  a  man,  from  a  man  of  such  energy, 
endowed  with  ancient  stoicism,  profoundly  impressed  the  cham- 
pion. Jocelyn's  heart  ached,  and  he  began  to  suspect  Marcel's 
motives  for  the  affectation  of  safety  that  he  had  shortly  before 
displayed  before  his  family.  Jocelyn  saw  him  dry  his  tears  and 
seal  the  parchment  with  black  wax,  using  for  that  purpose  the 
impress  of  a  large  gold  ring  that  he  wore  on  his  finger,  after 
which,  placing  the  scroll  together  with  the  others  that  he  had 
taken  from  the  trunk,  he  made  one  package  of  all,  sealed  them 
together  and  replaced  them  in  the  trunk.  He  then  locked  it,  and 
giving  the  key  to  Jocelyn,  said  to  him  deliberately : 

"Keep  this  key  safe  ...  I  charge  you  to  deliver  it  to  my 
wife  and  to  tell  her,  in  case  certain  events  should  happen,  that 
she  will  find  in  that  trunk,  together  with  my  testament  and 
some  other  papers  that  it  is  well  to  keep,  a  letter  for  herself 
.  .  .  written  by  me  this  evening  .  .  .  written  for  my 
beloved  Marguerite  ..." 

"Master  Marcel,"  Jocelyn  answered,  a  cold  shudder  running 
over  his  frame,  "these  are  lugubrious  preparations." 

"Lugubrious  ?  ...  no  ...  but  prudent  ...  I 
have  fulfiled  my  sacred  duty  ...  I  now  find  myself  in  a 
singular  frame  of  mind  .  .  .  The  latest  happenings,  those 
of  to-day,  cast  over  my  mind,  not  any  doubt  upon  the  decision 
I  should  take,  but  considerable  uncertainty  on  the  head  of  the 
means  to  be  adopted.  Never  yet  have  I  been  so  in  need  of  a  clear- 
ness of  judgment  as  now,  when  I  must  take  some  supreme  and 
irrevocable  step.  I  imagine  that  by  talking  over  the  general  con- 
dition of  things,  these  will  stand  out  more  clearly  before  me. 
Thought  expressed  in  words  becomes  preciser,  while  mute  it 
often  fades  from  one  thing  to  another  and  is  lost  to  the  goal  in 
mind.  Therefore,  listen  to  me,  and  if  in  the  rough  sketch  that 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  249 

I  shall  present  any  omission  should  strike  you,  any  point  should 
seem  obscure,  tell  me  so  .  .  .  It  is  a  friendly  duty  that  i 
now  conjure  you  to  fulfill." 

"I  listen,  Master  Marcel." 

"Upon  your  return  from  Clermont — pardon  that  I  open  the 
wound  of  your  private  sorrow — I  also  wept  over  the  death  of 
your  unfortunate  brother — upon  your  retum  from  Clermont,  you 
informed  me  of  the  massacre  of  the  Jacques.  The  following  day 
we  learned  that  the  Captal  of  Buch  and  the  Count  of  Foix  ex- 
terminated at  Meaux  another  considerable  troop  of  revolted  peas- 
ants. Finally,  recovering  from  the  stupor  into  which  these  for- 
midable insurrections  had  struck  it,  the  nobility  gathered  its 
forces  and  running  over  the  country  it  put  a  mass  of  serfs,  men, 
women  and  children,  to  frightful  tortures  and  to  death,  whether 
these  sympathized  with  the  Jacquerie  or  not,  and  set  their  villages 
on  fire.  That  settled,  at  least  for  a  long  time  to  come,  all  thought 
of  an  alliance  between  the  townsfolks  and  the  country  people. 
The  destruction  of  the  Jacquerie  reduces  the  bourgeoisie  to  its 
own  forces  in  its  struggle  against  the  Regent.  The  bourgeoisie 
has,  thereupon,  no  choice  but  either  to  accept  the  unequal  fight 
or  deliver  itself  to  Charles  the  Wicked,  and  instead  of  dictating 
terms  to  him,  accept  those  that  he  may  choose  to  dictate  to  us." 

"That  was  the  calculation  of  the  blood-thirsty  knave.  He  said 
so  explicitly  to  me  at  Clermont." 

"Nevertheless,  by  massacring  the  Jacques,  skillful  politician 
though  Charles  the  Wicked  be,  he  deprived  himself  of  powerful 
auxiliaries  against  the  Regent,  whose  forces  are  far  superior  to 
those  of  his  own.  He  may  fail  in  his  calculations." 

"The  scoundrelly  prince !  Had  he  followed  your  generous  ad- 
vice, his  own  hands,  re-inforced  by  thousands  of  armed  peasants 
and  thousands  of  bourgeois,  would  by  now  have  crushed  the  royal 
troops.  And  profiting  by  the  general  enthusiasm  of  the  people, 
who  are  as  exasperated  at  the  English  as  at  the  seigneurs,  Charles 
the  Wicked  would  now  be  chasing  the  foreigners  from  our  soil 
and  would  ascend  the  throne  in  the  midst  of  the  acclamations 


250  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

of  a  people  whom  he  would  govern  placing  before  them  the  ex- 
ample of  submission  to  the  national  assembly." 

"Such  was  the  glorious  mission  that  opened  before  Charles 
the  Wicked.  It  is  not  yet  too  late  if  he  would  only  have  the 
courage,  the  wisdom  and  the  loyalty  to  devote  himself  body  and 
soul  to  so  noble  an  aim.  I  shall  presently  explain  that.  At 
present,  however,  he  is,  just  as  ourselves,  no  other  than  a  rebel 
against  the  loyal  authority  of  the  Eegent.  The  latter  disposes 
of  considerable  forces.  He  has  on  his  side  the  monarchic  tra- 
dition, which  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  runs  back  into  the  night 
of  the  ages ;  he  has  on  his  side  the  royal  name,  the  courtiers,  the 
clergy,  the  royal  officers,  the  administrators  of  the  revenue  and  of 
justice,  in  short,  all  those  who  live  upon  abuses  and  exactions— 
a  huge  clientage  that  imparts  formidable  strength  to  the  Eegent. 
Charles  the  Wicked  is  too  clear-sighted  not  to  have  realized 
by  now  all  that  he  lost  by  destroying  the  Jacquerie,  and  how 
slight  his  chances  now  are  of  usurping  the  crown.  He  must 
have  thought  of  an  eventual  settlement  with  the  Eegent  in  case 
our  cause,  to  whose  side  he  still  seems  to  lean,  should  be  seriously 
compromised,  or  actually  lost." 

"Do  you  believe  that  Charles  the  Wicked  has  actually  nego- 
tiated with  the  Eegent?" 

"Everything  makes  me  think  so.  The  conduct  of  the  King 
of  Navarre  during  these  last  days  reveals  a  man  who  is  wavering 
between  ambition  to  ascend  the  throne  and  the  fear  of  a  defeat 
which  he  would  have  to  pay  for  with  his  life  and  the  loss  of  his 
domains.  He  sends  us  a  few  insignificant  reinforcements,  but 
refuses  to  enter  Paris.  He  has  accepted  the  title  of  captain-gen- 
eral of  our  city,  but  the  queen,  his  mother,  has  frequent  interviews 
with  the  Eegent.  The  hour  is  critical.  The  court  party  ex- 
ploits at  our  expense  and  with  its  habitual  perfidy  the  present 
national  calamities  whose  original  causes  are  the  insane  prodigal- 
ities of  the  court  itself.  King  John  and  his  creatures  have  driven 
both  towns  and  country  districts  to  desperation  with  their  acts 
of  rapine  and  violence  and  their  unbearable  imposts.  A  revo- 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  251 

lution  broke  out.  We  conquered  radical  reforms.  These  were 
expected  to  inaugurate  an  era  of  peace  and  prosperity  unequaled 
in  the  annals  of  the  land,  because  liberty  is  at  once  well-being  and 
independence.  But  liberty  is  complete  only  with  the  possession 
of  the  instruments  of  work." 

"A  profound  truth,  Master  Marcel.  Tyranny  ever  engenders 
servitude,  and  servitude  misery.  Only  by  freeing  them  from 
seigniorial  tyranny  could  the  insurrection  of  the  serfs  insure  to 
these  the  enjoyment  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth  which  they  now 
cultivate  for  their  own  butchers." 

"Yes,  but  all  revolution  is  arduous  and  rough.  It  cannot  over- 
night remedy  ills  that  are  the  fatal  inheritance  of  the  past.  Some- 
times such  ills  are  even  temporarily  aggravated  by  the  remedial 
revolution,  as  the  cauterized  wound  for  a  while  smarts  worse  than 
before.  These  ills,  these  sufferings,  have  been  carried  to  their 
extreme  by  the  ravages  of  the  English  after  the  battle  of  Poitiers. 
The  people  have  valiantly  endured  them,  placing  their  confidence 
in  the  revolution  of  1357.  The  city  council,  presided  over  by  my- 
self, the  'governors'  in  short,  as  the  body  is  called,  have  been 
forced  to  exercise  a  temporary  dictatorship,  often  to  resort  to 
energetic  and  even  terrible  measures  in  order  to  make  front 
against  the  English  at  our  gates,  and  the  court  party  inside  of 
our  walls.  The  people  at  first  accepted  the  dictatorship  for  the 
sake  of  the  safety  of  the  city,  but  they  have  since  fallen  away 
when  they  found  that  we  could  not  instantly  meet  their  expecta- 
tions of  material  well-being.  The  people  are  tired  of  dictatorship, 
and  now  in  their  credulous  despair  they  lend  ear  to  the  mischiev- 
ous words  of  their  own  enemies!  They  are  ready  to  withdraw 
from  the  struggle  instead  of  finishing  the  work  of  emancipation ! 
The  people  now  deplore  their  rebellion ;  they  are  ready  to  curse  the 
councilmen  who  have  sacrificed  their  repose  and  their  property, 
and  even  exposed  their  lives  in  the  effort  of  emancipation.  They 
imagine  that  by  humbly  submitting  to  the  Regent,  that  by  meekly 
resuming  their  yoke,  the  ills  they  now  suffer  from  will  vanish. 
Perchance  to-morrow  the  people  will  be  dragging  me  to  the  scaf- 


252  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

fold,  me  who  so  recently  was  their  idol!"  After  a  few  seconds 
of  silence  the  provost  resumed :  "To  sum  up,  we  can  now  barely 
count  with  the  support  of  the  masses;  Charles  the  Wicked  is  a 
doubtful  ally ;  the  Kegent  a  formidable  adversary." 

"Unhappily  the  manifestations  of  the  defection  of  the  people, 
whom  the  manoeuvres  of  the  Eegent's  party  have  done  their  best 
to  promote,  have  struck  me  during  the  last  few  days.  Must  all 
hope  be  given  up,  Master  Marcel  ?" 

"No!  No!  I  merely  wished  to  establish  the  critical  aspect 
of  our  situation.  But  all  is  not  lost.  By  virtue  of  their  very  fickle- 
ness the  people  are  capable  of  sudden  revulsions.  A  con- 
siderable section  of  the  bourgeoisie,  firmly  resolved  to  carry  our 
work  to  a  happy  issue,  in  the  language  of  my  device,  will  go  with 
us  to  the  end,  whatever  the  dangers  be  that  menace  our  lives  and 
property  in  case  of  failure.  We  still  can  make  our  influence  felt 
among  the  masses ;  we  can  arouse  their  enthusiasm,  wrench  them 
free  from  their  acquiesence  in  the  enemy's  suggestions,  adopt  ter- 
rible measures  against  these,  and  gain  a  decisive  victory  over  the 
Eegent.  But  seeing  that  the  Jacquerie  is  annihilated,  it  would 
be  insane  to  undertake  such  a  struggle  without  the  support  of 
Charles  the  Wicked.  This,  then,  is  our  last  resource.  This 
very  night  I  shall  induce  the  prince  to  declare  himself  against 
the  Eegent,  and  sufficiently  compromise  himself  so  as  to  force 
him  to  the  alternative  of  vanquishing  with  us  and  ruling,  or  of 
losing  both  his  life  and  his  property  should  the  Eegent  prevail. 
If  he  accepts  my  propositions,  then  Charles  the  Wicked,  having 
staked  his  head  for  a  crown,  will  enter  Paris  at  the  head  of  his 
Navarrians.  We  shall  make  a  supreme  effort;  we  shall  arouse 
the  people  and  shall  take  the  field  against  the  Eegent.  If  we 
are  victorious,  we  shall  then  rouse  against  the  English  the  peas- 
ants that  have  escaped  the  vengeance  of  the  nobility.  The  for- 
eigner will  be  beaten  back ;  delivered  from  her  domestic  and  her 
foreign  foes,  Gaul  will  delegate  her  sovereignty  to  Charles  of 
Navarre  under  control  of  the  national  assembly.  Our  provinces 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  253 

will  then  form  a  powerful  confederation  with  us  as  the  center." 

"Such  a  result  would  be  admirable.  But  would  Charles  the 
Wicked  keep  his  promise  once  he  is  crowned  King  of  France? 
Will  he  submit  to  the  laws  of  the  States  General  ?" 

"He  would  have  submitted  to  all  our  conditions  before  the  anni- 
hilation of  the  Jacquerie  which  was  a  counterpoise  to  his  bands 
of  mercenaries.  But  when  he  mounts  the  throne  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances will  compel  him  to  keep  a  large  number  of  the  re- 
forms very  much  like  a  gift  of  joy.  Thus  a  part  of  our  conquests 
over  the  royalty  will  have  been  assured.  Nor  is  that  all.  The 
masses,  still  steeped  in  ignorance  are  slavish.  Accustomed 
through  centuries  to  being  governed  despotically  by  a  prince  of 
royal  lineage,  they  can  arrive  only  by  degrees  at  free  government 
under  elective  magistrates,  as  were  the  communal  towns  at  the 
time  of  their  enfranchisement.  But  experience  will  be  gradually 
gained.  Is  not  the  mere  fact  of  the  overthrow  of  one  dynasty 
and  the  setting  up  of  a  new  at  the  will  of  the  citizens,  an  immense 
step  forward?  The  divine  prestige  of  the  royalty  will  have  re- 
ceived a  death-blow.  The  power  of  choosing  a  sovereign  implies 
the  right  to  depose  him.  And,  finally,  let  us  not  lose  sight  of 
this,  always  supposing  that  Charles  the  Wicked  succeeds  in  the 
war:  Gaul  will  be  delivered  of  the  English;  after  that,  what- 
ever may  happen,  the  nobility  will  preserve  the  memory  of  the 
formidable  insurrection  of  the  Jacques;  it  will  feel  itself  com- 
pelled to  ease  the  yoke,  realizing  that,  driven  again  to  extremities, 
Jacques  Bonhomme  might  again  wield  the  fork,  the  scythe  and 
the  torch." 

"Aye,  Master  Marcel,  the  future  is  bright  .  .  .  provided 
Charles  the  Wicked  openly  pronounces  against  the  Kegent,  and 
we  triumph." 

"I  have  weighed  everything,  calculated  everything.  If  we  suc- 
cumb in  this  supreme  conflict,  Charles  the  Wicked  will  share  our 
defeat  and,  like  us,  will  pay  for  his  rebellion  with  his  head.  He 
is,  at  best,  a  wicked  prince;  the  Kegent  will  return  to  Paris 


254 


THE  IRON   TREVET. 


just  as  he  would  inevitably  do  if  the  King  of  Navarre  refuses 
to  embrace  our  cause.  It  would  be  an  act  of  folly  to  try  to 
oppose  the  Eegent  without  him.  Let  us  examine  this  last 
hypothesis.  Aiming  at  putting  an  end  to  the  hesitations  of 
Charles  the  Wicked,  I  have  forced  him  to  decide  this  very 
night—" 

"This  very  night?" 

"At  one  o'clock  to-morrow  morning  I  shall  await  the  King  of 
Navarre  at  the  St.  Antoine  gate.  I  declared  to  him  yesterday 
at  St.  Denis  that  I  shall  no  longer  count  with  him,  and  shall 
look  upon  him  as  a  traitor  if  at  the  hour  I  mentioned  he  does 
not  appear  at  the  rendezvous  so  as  to  enter  Paris  with  me  and 
to  solemnly  announce  to-morrow  at  the  town-hall  his  adherence 
to  our  cause,  and  the  support  of  his  arms.  We  are  left  to  our 
own  forces  if  Charles  the  Wicked  fails  to  put  in  his  appearance 
to-night." 

"What  did  he  answer  you,  Master  Marcel?" 

"He  answered  me  in  his  usual  manner,  that  he  would  think  it 
over.  Now,  then,  if  the  fear  of  losing  his  domains  and  of  risking 
his  head  carries  the  day  over  his  ambition,  he  will  go  and  throw 
himself  at  the  feet  of  the  Regent  and  will  offer  him  his  services 
in  atonement  for  his  past  conduct.  The  Regent  has  great  in- 
terest in  temporizing  with  such  an  adversary.  He  will  grant 
him  pardon,  and  the  two  will  march  upon  Paris  at  the  head  of 
their  combined  troops.  Our  city  will  then  fall  back  under  the 
monarchic  yoke." 

"Then,  Master  Marcel,"  cried  Jocelyn,  "let  us  call  to  arms 
all  the  stout-hearted  people  of  the  city;  let  us  then  close  our 
gates  and  lock  ourselves  behind  our  ramparts  that  are  now  so 
well  fortified  by  your  foresight  and  zeal ;  let  us  be  killed  to  the 
last  man;  let  not  the  Regent  re-enter  his  capital  but  through 
the  breach  that  he  will  have  to  make  over  our  corpses !" 

"Such  a  resolution  is  heroic.  But  you  forget  the  horrors  that 
follow  the  capture  of  a  city  by  assault.  You  forget  Meaux  de- 


THE   IRON   TREET. 


255 


livered  to  the  flames  by  the  Captal  of  Buch  and  the  Count  of 
Foix ;  the  women  assaulted,  old  men  and  children  slaughtered  or 
perishing  in  the  flames !  Shall  I  deliver  Paris  to  such  a  fate, 
Paris  the  head  and  heart  of  Gaul  ?  No !  To  attempt  to  resist 
the  Kegent  without  the  assistance  of  Charles  the  Wicked  would 
be  to  expose  ourselves  to  annihilation.  Let  us  prefer  a  salutary 
sacrifice  to  a  sterile  heroism.  Even  our  defeat  will  be  fruitful." 

"Master  Marcel,  I  do  not  understand  you  now." 

"Whatever  the  stubbornness  and  duplicity  of  the  Kegent  may 
be,  the  terrible  lessons  he  has  received  will  not  be  lost  upon  him. 
A  fugitive  before  the  popular  uprising,  he  was  forced  to  leave 
the  palace  of  the  Louvre  furtively  ...  he  has  seen  himself 
on  the  point  of  losing  his  crown.  If,  thanks  to  the  submission 
of  the  Parisians,  he  should  re-enter  the  city,  however  he  may 
seek  to  satiate  his  vengeance  and  satisfy  his  royal  pride,  he  will 
feel  compelled  to  observe  certain  reforms.  These,  no  doubt,  will 
be  less  numerous  than  Charles  the  Wicked  would  have  accepted 
in  order  to  consolidate  his  usurpation.  Nevertheless,  whatever 
they  be  and  however  few,  these  reforms  will  remain  safe  to  pos- 
terity, our  revolution  will  have  borne  some  fruit,  the  burden  that 
weighed  upon  the  people  will  have  been  lightened.  Do  you 
grasp  my  sense  ?  .  .  .  What  is  it  that  astonishes  you  ?" 

"In  order  to  satisfy  the  resentment  of  the  Eegent  and  slake 
his  vengeance,  the  heads  of  the  chiefs  of  the  rebellion  will  be  de- 
manded." 

"Some  heads  will  be  demanded!"  answered  Marcel  with 
Spartan  simplicity.  "Yes,  the  Regent  will  demand  my  own 
head  first  of  all  and  also  the  heads  of  the  governors,  the  prin- 
cipal leaders  in  the  rebellion  .  .  .  Very  well!  We  shall 
deliver  our  heads  to  the  Regent  .  .  .  My  friends  and  I  are 
in  accord  upon  that  .  .  .  This  conversation  elucidates,  as 
I  expected  of  it,  the  facts  that  are  to  be  considered,  and  confirms 
me  in  my  resolution.  At  one  in  the  morning  I  shall  proceed 
to  the  gate  of  St.  Antoine,  where  I  shall  expect  to  meet  Charles 


25 6  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

the  Wicked.  If  he  fails  to  come,  I  shall  take  horse  and  ride  to 
the  Kegent's  camp  at  Charenton.  I  shall  offer  him  my  life;  if 
that  does  not  suffice  him,  I  shall  offer  him  the  lives  of  my  friends : 
they  have  authorized  me  to  dispose  of  their  heads.  In  exchange, 
I  shall  demand  of  the  prince  the  observances  of  the  reforms  sworn 
to  in  1357.  I  shall  demand  a  good  deal  so  as  to  obtain  something 
.  .  .  These  reforms  will  smooth  the  day  for  the  advent  of 
our  plan  of  government,  based  upon  the  federation  of  the  prov- 
inces and  the  permanence  of  the  sovereign  national  assemblies 
that  will  at  first  delegate  the  appearance  of  a  crown  to  a  phantom 
king,  and  later,  by  wholly  suppressing  the  idol,  suppress  royal- 
ty itself.  The  government  of  free  Gaul,  free  and  confederated, 
will  then  be  again  what  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  invasion  of 
Cassar,  as  we  learn  from  history  and  as  one  of  your  family's 
legends  confirms." 

"At  the  time  of  the  abolition  of  the  commune  of  Laon  and  of 
so  many  other  municipal  republics  that  Louis  the  Lusty  de- 
stroyed, my  ancestor  Fergan  the  Quarryman  said  to  his  son,  who 
despaired  of  the  future :  'Hope,  my  child,  hope !  .  .  .  Have 
faith  in  the  slow,  painful  but  irrestible  progress  of  the  race.' 
He  spoke  truly !  Thanks  to  your  genius,  I  might  have  seen  in 
this  very  century  the  municipal  government  of  the  old  com- 
munes— free,  benevolent  and  wise  governments — applied  no  long- 
er to  one  town  only  but  to  all  Gaul.  Be  praised  for  having  pro- 
moted such  a  step  forward." 

"That  is  my  dream !  Social  unity  and  administrative  uni- 
formity. Political  rights  made  commensurate  with  civic  rights. 
The  principles  of  authority  transferred  from  the  crown  to  the 
nation.  The  States  General  changed  into  a  national  assembly 
under  the  control  of  the  people  of  the  towns  and  the  country, 
and  the  living  forces  of  the  nation;  and  the  popular  sovereignty 
attested  by  the  overthrow  of  one  dynasty  and  the  transfer  of  the 
crown  to  another,  until  the  day  of  the  total  suppression  of  the 
royalty,  the  last  vestige  of  the  Frankish  conquest !  .  .  .  That 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  2tf 

was  my  dream !  Time  will  change  the  dream  into  reality.  May 
be  I  stepped  in  advance  of  my  century  ...  Is  that  wrong  ? 
.  .  .  That  government  of  the  future  will  have  been  practiced 
three  years !  .  .  .  Our  children  will  place  all  the  stronger 
reliance  in  the  prospect  of  their  deliverance  when,  instructed 
by  the  past,  they  will  know  that  their  fathers  actually  held  their 
deliverance  in  their  own  hands;  that,  having  one  day  assumed 
their  freedom,  they  bent  and  chased  away  the  royal  incumbent, 
and  that,  if  they  relapsed  under  the  yoke,  it  was  because  on  the 
eve  of  final  triumph  they  yielded  to  discouragement;  it  was  be- 
cause, after  having  overcome  formidable  obstacles,  they  grew 
faint-hearted  at  the  moment  of  reaching  the  ultimate  goal.  The 
lesson  will  be  great  and  profitable  to  our  children.  Perchance 
the  death  of  myself  and  my  friends  may  render  the  lesson  all  the 
more  striking !  Our  death  will  have  been  as  fruitful  as  our  life ! 
.  .  .  The  scaffold  will  crown  it!" 


CHAPTER  IV. 
PLOTTERS  UNCOVERED. 

Wrapt  in  wonderment  and  admiration,  Jocelyn  was  contem- 
plating the  noble  figure  of  Etienne  Marcel  that  now  seemed  trans- 
figured in  the  brilliancy  of  the  sentiments  he  had  given  utterance 
to,  when  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  Jocelyn  opened  and 
Denise  said  to  him : 

"Jocelyn,  your  friend  Rufin  wishes  to  speak  to  you  without 
delay/' 

"Master  Marcel,"  the  champion  observed,  "it  must  be  about 
the  plot  that  Rufin  thinks  to  have  discovered." 

"My  child,  tell  Rufin  to  come  in/'  said  the  provost  to  his 
niece. 

Rufin  entered  immediately.  He  was  deeply  agitated :  "Mas- 
ter Marcel,"  he  said,  "I  believe  the  goddess  Fortuna  served  me  as 
well  this  time  as  she  did  the  night  I  discovered  the  flight  of  the 
Regent" ;  and  drawing  a  letter  from  his  pocket  he  handed  it  over 
to  Marcel,  adding :  "Be  kind  enough  to  post  yourself  thereon ; 
if  the  message  is  to  be  judged  by  the  messenger,  it  bodes  nothing 
good." 

Marcel  took  the  letter,  broke  the  seal,  trembled  when  he  recog- 
nized the  hand  that  wrote  it,  and  carefully  read  its  contents, 
while  Jocelyn,  leading  the  student  to  the  outer  end  of  the  cabinet, 
said  to  him  in  a  low  voice : 

"How  did  you  get  the  letter,  friend  Rufin  f" 

"By  Hercules !  It  got  it  ...  by  the  force  of  my  fist ! 
without,  however,  forgetting  the  aid  that  my  chum  Nicholas 
the  Thin-skinned  and  two  Scotch  students  lent  me.  I  became 
acquainted  with  the  last  two  about  a  year  ago  in  a  contest  over 
the  flagrant  superiority  of  the  rhetoric  of  Fichetus  over  that  of 
Faber.  Our  discussion  having  turned  from  oral  to  manual,  to 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  259 

all  the  greater  honor  of  rhetoric,  I  preserved  a  striking  souvenir 
of  their  fists — " 

"The  minutes  are  precious,  Eufin ;  grave  matters  are  at  stake ; 
I  beseech  you,  come  to  the  point." 

"This  evening,  towards  nightfall,  I  was  walking  on  Oysters- 
are-fried-here  street,  totally  oblivious  of  the  perfumes  exhaled  by 
the  fries,  although  I  had  dined  only  on  a  herring,  and  thinking 
only  of  that  treasure,  that  pearl,  or  rather  of  that  bouquet  of 
roses  that  Dame  Venus,  her  godmother,  christened  by  the  succu- 
lent name  of  Alison — " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Eufin!" 

"Keep  cool;  I  shall  bid  my  soul  hold  its  tongue.  I  shall 
come  to  the  point.  Well,  then,  I  noticed  a  large  crowd  at  the 
other  end  of  the  street;  I  elbowed  my  way  in  and  reached  its 
front  ranks.  There  I  saw  a  certain  large-boned  scamp  with  a 
furred  cap  whom  I  had  come  across  before  and  knew  to  be  a 
bitter  partisan  of  Maillart.  The  said  large-boned  scamp  was 
perorating  against  Master  Marcel,  attributing  to  him  all  the 
ills  we  are  suffering  from  and  crying:  'We  must  put  an  end 
to  the  tyranny  of  the  governors.  The  Regent's  army  is  gathered 
at  Charenton  and  is  about  to  march  upon  us.  The  Regent  is 
furious.  He  wishes  to  set  fire  to  his  good  city  of  Paris  and 
slaughter  its  townsmen.  Maillart,  the  true  friend  of  the  people, 
is  alone  able  to  make  a  front  against  the  Regent  or  to  negotiate 
with  him  and  thus  save  the  city  from  the  ruin  that  threatens 
it'" 

"Always  that  Maillart!" 

"Such  language  exasperated  me.  I  was  on  the  point  of  break- 
ing out  and  confounding  the  man  of  the  furred  cap  whose  words, 
I  must  say  so,  were  having  their  effect  upon  the  mob.  Some  of 
them  had  even  begun  to  vituperate  Master  Marcel  and  the  gov- 
ernors, when  suddenly  I  heard  someone  behind  me  say  in  Latin : 
'The  water  begins  to  boil,  the  fish  must  now  be  thrown  in/  and 
another  voice  answered,  also  in  Latin:  'Then  let  us  hasten  to 
notify  the  master  cook/  Seeking  to  fathom  the  mysterious 


260  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

meaning  of  these  parables,  I  turned  towards  my  Latinists  at  the 
moment  when  they  began  to  cry,  this  time  in  French:  'Good 
luck  to  Maillart,  to  the  devil  with  Marcel!  He  is  a  criminal! 
A  traitor !  He  plots  with  the  Navarrians !  Good  luck  to  Mail- 
lart !  He  alone  can  put  an  end  to  our  ills !'  A  portion  of  the 
crowd  took  up  the  cries,  whereupon  the  lumbering  scamp  of  the 
furred  cap  closed  his  peroration  and  came  down  from  the  box 
on  which  he  had  been  perched.  The  two  Latinists  then  ap- 
proached him,  and  while  the  crowd  was  dispersing  my  three 
gentlemen  stepped  aside  and  conducted  an  animated  discussion. 
I  did  not  lose  sight  of  them;  the  three  walked  on  together  and 
I  followed,  catching  these  broken  words  that  they  let  drop: 
'rendezvous,'  Ahorse/  'arcade  of  St.  Nicholas.'  You  know  how 
even  at  mid-day  the  arcade  of  St.  Nicholas  is  dark  and  deserted. 
Night  was  falling  fast.  The  idea  struck  me  that  my  three 
worthies  might  be  having  some  suspicious  rendezvous  at  that  se- 
cluded spot,  because  the  mysterious  Latin  words  would  not 
leave  my  head.  'The  water  begins  to  boil'  might  mean  the  boil- 
ing of  the  popular  rage;  'the  fish  that  was  to  be  thrown  in  the 
boiling  water,'  might  mean  Master  Marcel ;  finally,  'the  cook  who 
was  to  be  notified' — " 

"Might  be  the  Eegent  or  Maillart,"  put  in  Jocelyn.  "I  do 
not  believe  your  penetration  was  at  fault.  It  is  a  credit  to  your 
sagacity." 

"And  the  words  'horse,'  'rendezvous,'  'arcade  of  St.  Nicholas' 
might  mean  some  messenger  on  horseback  was  waiting  for  my 
three  worthies  at  that  secluded  spot.  I  know  the  place.  Often 
did  Margot  .  .  .  _  But  I  shall  drop  Margot !  I  said  to  my- 
self on  the  contrary:  'Oh,  if  now,  instead  of  following  the 
lumbering  scamp  of  the  furred  cap  to  the  spot  so  propitious  to 
love,  I  followed  the  divine  Alison — " 

The  champion  again  made  an  impatient  gesture,  took  his 
friend  by  the  arm,  and  pointed  significantly  towards  the  other 
end  »f  the  chamber  where  Marcel  sat  with  his  forehead  leaning 
on  his  hand,  contemplating  the  letter  that  he  had  just  finished 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  261 

reading,  and  a  smile  at  once  bitter  and  sorrowful  playing  around 
his  lips.  The  student  grasped  Jocelyn's  meaning  and  proceeded 
in  a  still  lower  voice : 

"I  have  quick  legs.  I  put  them  to  use  and  made  a  short 
cut  on  the  run  across  St.  Patern  to  arrive  before  my  three  men 
at  the  arcade  of  St.  Nicholas.  The  place  was  dark  as  an  oven. 
I  listened,  but  heard  nothing.  I  know  the  place.  Groping 
about  I  found  a  niche  where  one  time  stood  the  statue  of  the 
saint.  I  vanished  in  the  cavity,  and  awaited  at  all  hazards. 
I  was  well  repaid.  About  fifteen  minutes  later  steps  were  heard 
under  the  vault  and  I  recognized  the  voice  of  the  man  of  the 
furred  cap  whispering:  'Haloa  .  .  .  haloa!  John  Four- 
Sous',  and  presently  a  voice  answered :  'He  has  not  yet  arrived 
.  .  .  the  devil  take  the  loafer !'  'No  time  is  lost/  answered 
a  third  voice,  Hie  only  needs  three  hours  to  reach  here  from 
Charenton  on  horseback;  he  will  not  fail."3 

"The  situation  is  grave,"  said  Jocelyn.  "It  is  at  Charenton 
that  the  Regent  has  his  headquarters.  There  must  be  some  trea- 
sonable plot  on  foot." 

"Exactly.  So  you  can  imagine  how  I  congratulated  myself 
on  my  discovery.  Evidently  there  was  a  plot  hatching  with 
the  court  party.  John  Four-Sous  finally  arrived  by  the  other 
side  of  the  entrance  of  the  arcade  and  the  man  of  the  furred  cap 
asked  him:  'Are  you  ready  to  leave?'  'Yes,  my  horse  stands 
saddled  in  the  stable  of  the  inn  of  The  Three  Monkeys.'  'Very 
well ;  here  is  the  letter,'  came  from  the  man  of  the  furred  cap, 
'Make  haste  to  arrive  at  the  royal  encampment;  deliver  the  let- 
ter to  the  eeneschal  of  Poitou;  he  will  understand.'  'But  will 
they  allow  me  to  leave  the  city?'  asked  the  messenger.  Tear 
not,'  he  is  answered,  'the  gate  of  St.  Antoine  is  this  evening 
guarded  by  men  of  our  side ;  Master  Maillart  is  to  be  there  him- 
self; you  shall  give  for  pass-word  "Montjoie,  the  King  and 
Duke";  that  will  let  you  through.  To  horse,  now,  to  horse!' 
After  that  the  man  of  the  furred  cap  and  his  two  companions 
walked  off  by  one  entrance  and  John  Four-Sous  by  the  other.  I 


262  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

left  the  niche  where  I  had  taken  St.  Nicholas'  place,  and  fol- 
lowed the  messenger  of  whom  I  got  a  clear  view  when  the  light 
of  the  moon  fell  upon  him  outside  the  vault.  The  scamp  was 
tall,  sinewy  and  well  armed.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  seize  the 
letter  that  he  carried.  How  to  do  it  ?  I  was  still  revolving  the 
matter  when  I  saw  him  enter  the  tavern  of  The  Three  Monkeys. 
I  imagined  he  was  going  for  his  horse  in  the  stable.  Not  at  all ! 
John  Four-Sous,  heing  a  man  of  foresight,  called  for  supper 
before  starting  on  his  journey,  and  through  the  open  door  I  saw 
him  comfortably  anchored  at  a  table.  Bacchus  willed  it  that 
I  had  often  emptied  more  than  one  tankard  at  the  tavern  of  The 
Three  Monkeys  without  smashing  them  after  drinking.  I  knew 
the  inn-keeper,  a  worthy  fellow  belonging  to  Marcel's  party.  I 
immediately  dropped  a  few  lines  to  the  divine  Alison  whom 
Dame  Venus  .  .  .  attached  to  her  chariot  .  .  . 
"We  know  all  about  that  .  .  .  come  to  the  point." 
"Uncertain  of  what  success  I  might  meet,  I  wished  at  least  to 
forewarn  Master  Marcel,  and  that  so  soon  as  possible,  that 
something  was  hatching  against  him.  The  inn-keeper  under- 
took to  forward  my  note  to  Alison's  inn,  and  presently  .  .  . 
Blessed  be  the  goddess  Fortuna,  whom  do  I  see  enter  but  my 
chum  Nicholas  the  Thin-skinned,  in  the  company  of  the  Scotch 
students,  with  whom  I  had  once  fistically  discussed  the  merits 
of  the  rhetoric  of  Fichetus.  They  came  to  drink  some  spiced 
wine.  With  the  corner  of  my  eyes  I  was  taking  in  John  Four- 
Sous  devouring  his  ample  supper.  My  plan  was  formed.  I 
communicated  it  to  my  friends  and  the  inn-keeper,  confiding  to 
them  the  suspicions  that  I  entertained,  and  which  the  incident  of 
the  arcade  of  St.  Nicholas  confirmed.  Nothing  simpler  than 
my  project :  Pick  up  a  quarrel  with  John  Four-Sous,  fall  upon 
him,  take  possession  of  the  letter,  and  lock  up  the  scamp  in  the 
cellar  of  The  Three  Monkeys  so  as  to  keep  him  from  giving  the 
alarm  to  Maillart's  party.  So  said,  so  done  ...  I  ap- 
proached John  Four-Sous'  table  and  started  quarrelling  with 
him.  He  gave  me  an  insolent  answer.  I  jumped  at  his  throat 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  263 

and  Nicholas  the  Thin-skinned  rummaged  through  the  fellow's 
pockets,  and  seized  the  letter,  and — " 

The  student's  account  was  interrupted  by  Marcel,  who  after  a 
long  and  thorough  reflection,  rose  from  his  seat,  and  stepping 
towards  Jocelyn  said : 

"I  spoke  to  you  of  my  quandary;  this  letter  would  have  put 
an  end  to  it  had  not  my  resolution  been  previously  taken.  Do 
you  know  who  wrote  this  letter  ?" 

"No,  Master  Marcel;  who  is  its  author?  A  friend  or  an 
enemy  ?" 

"My  oldest  friend,"  answered  the  provost  with  deep  concern 
and  disgust,  "John  Maillart!  This  letter  proves  that  for  some 
time,  and  despite  his  affectation  of  devotion  for  the  popular  cause 
and  his  violent  language  against  the  court,  Maillart  was  secretly 
negotiating  with  the  royalist  party  whose  chiefs  in  Paris  are 
the  Sire  of  Charny  and  the  knight  James  of  Pontoise,  for  the 
nobility,  with  Maillart  and  the  old  councilmen  Pastorel  and 
John  Alphonse  for  the  bourgeoisie.  These  are  our  worst 
enemies." 

"Master  Marcel/'  asked  Jocelyn,  "will  not  you  and  the  gov- 
ernors take  rigorous  measures  against  these  traitors  ?" 

"They  dare  to  conspire  within  our  walls !"  added  the  student. 
"They  seek  to  lead  astray  a  credulous  people!  They  deserve 
death !" 

"It  will  have  been  brought  on  by  our  enemies  themselves! 
They  must  be  stricken  down  with  terror.  They  invoke  fright- 
ful, vengeance  upon  Paris!"  replied  Marcel.  "Yes,  Maillart, 
keeping  the  Kegent  informed  upon  our  intestine  dissensions, 
upon  the  discouragement  inspired  among  the  masses  by  the 
agents  of  the  court,  upon  the  hatred  that  they  have  incited  against 
us,  beseeches  the  prince  to  march  upon  Paris,  and  assures  him 
that  the  people  are  tired  of  suffering.  He  assures  him  that  a 
movement  in  his  favor  will  break  out  within  our  walls  so  soon  as 
he  approaches.  He  informs  the  prince  that  he  and  his  partisans 
•will  be  on  guard  to-night  and  to-morrow  at  the  gate  of  St. 


264  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

Antoine,  and  that  they  will  open  the  gates  to  him.  Finally, 
he  expresses  the  hope  of  being  able  to  deliver  me  to  the  Regent, 
me  whom  he  calls  'the  soul  of  the  revolution.' " 

"There  can  be  no  longer  any  doubt !"  exclaimed  Jocelyn  horri- 
fied. "So  that  when  Maillart's  wife  came  here  this  evening  to 
offer  means  for  your  escape  to  Dame  Marguerite  she  only  was 
laying  a  trap  for  you." 

"Aye,"  broke  in  Marcel  with  a  look  of  contempt,  "she  was 
laying  a  trap  for  me.  I  was  to  trust  the  loyalty  of  my  oldest 
friend  ...  I  was  to  go  alone  to  his  house  .  .  .  and 
there  he  was  to  take  me  prisoner  and  deliver  me  to  the  Regent 
at  his  entry  into  Paris!" 

"Treason  and  cowardice!"  cried  the  student  indignantly. 
"What  a  female  monster!  Oh,  I  judged  her  rightly  from  her 
hypocritical  lamentations  at  the  funeral  of  Perrin  Mace." 

"The  envy  and  pride  that  devour  her  have  lost  Maillart,"  re- 
joined the  provost.  "The  vanity  of  that  insensate  woman  has 
driven  her  husband  to  crime  and  to  deep  baseness.  That 
man  without  character  and  without  convictions  reminds  the 
seneschal  in  his  letter  that  the  Regent  promised  him  a  patent  of 
nobility  in  consideration  of  the  services  he  is  rendering  the 
court  party !  .  .  .  That  is  the  Maillart  that  was  incessantly 
reproaching  me  for  not  exterminating  the  members  of  the  court 
party  who  remained  in  Paris !  .  .  .  He  could  not  find  words 
enough  to  throw  at  the  nobility !" 

"Oh,  Master  Marcel,"  cried  Jocelyn,  "and  your  blood  was 
to  be  the  price  for  the  ennobling  of  that  infamous  wretch  !" 

"This  act  of  betrayal  wounds  me  doubly  ...  I  know 
mankind.  Nevertheless,  I  resisted  up  to  this  moment  the  belief 
that  Maillart  could  be  guilty  of  such  felony  .  .  .  He,  the 
friend  of  my  infancy  .  .  .  But  now,  to  work.  There  is  now 
no  longer  any  doubt,  nor  can  there  now  be  any  question  what 
step  to  take  .  .  .  The  reaction  of  the  court  party  will  be 
merciless  .  .  .  Our  only  chance  of  escape  lies  in  the  support 
of  the  King  of  Navarre  .  .  .  and  in  the  vigorous  measures 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  265 

that  we  must  now  take  against  these  implacable  enemies." 

"Master  Marcel,"  Jocelyn  whispered  to  the  provost,  "'if  Charles 
the  Wicked  does  not  put  in  his  appearance  at  the  rendezvous  of 
this  evening,  what  will  you  do  then?" 

"I  shall  ride  at  a  gallop  to  deliver  to  the  Eegent  my  own 
head  and  the  heads  of  the  governors  .  .  .  Our  blood  will 
slake  the  young  prince's  thirst  for  vengeance  and  he  will  spare 
Paris." 

A  great  noise,  at  first  from  a  distance,  was  heard  rapidly  ap- 
proaching along  the  street.  Presently  distinct  cheers  were 
heard :  "Good  luck  to  Marcel !"  "To  a  happy  issue,  to  a  happy 
issue!"  "Good  luck  to  Marcel!"  and  almost  at  the  same  time 
time  Marguerite  entered  her  husband's  cabinet  saying :  "Simon 
the  Feather-dealer,  Philip  Giffart,  Consac  and  other  friends  are 
in  arms  in  the  street  with  a  large  number  of  faithful  partisans 
cheering  for  you.  Our  friends  consider  it  prudent  to  come  for 
you  and  escort  you  to  the  town-hall." 

"Good-bye,  Marguerite,  dear  and  beloved  wife!"  said  Marcel 
with  profound  but  well-controlled  emotion,  thinking  that  this 
was  perhaps  the  last  time  he  might  press  to  his  heart  the 
companion  of  his  life.  "Adieu  .  .  .  and  may  we  soon  meet 
again !" 

"Oh,  my  friend,  these  cheers  that  acclaim  you  with  enthusiasm 
reassure  me  .  .  .  Our  friends  are  guarding  you." 

"Fear  nothing;  I  shall  see  you  again  to-morrow  .  .  . 
Adieu!  .  .  .  Adieu  once  more!"  repeated  Marcel,  who  de- 
spite his  courage,  felt  his  heart  breaking  at  the  moment  of  a 
separation  that  might  be  eternal.  Giving  a  last  embrace  to  Mar- 
guerite, Marcel  descended  to  the  street.  There  he  was  met 
by  several  of  the  councilmen  in  the  midst  of  a  large  crowd 
of  partisans  whose  sympathetic  acclamations  redoubled  at  the 
sight  of  their  idol.  Discouragement  had,  it  was  true,  gained  over 
a  majority  of  the  people.  Nevertheless  Marcel  could  still  count 
upon  many  devoted  and  intrepid  hearts. 

"Friends!"  Marcel  cried  out  aloud  to  the  councilmen,  "we 


266  THE  IRON  T REVET. 

shall  not  go  to  the  town-hall,  but  to  the  gate  of  St.  Antoine. 
I  shall  tell  you  more  on  the  way. 

The  words  were  caught  by  one  of  the  three  men  who  all 
during  the  evening  had  never  left  the  approaches  to  Marcel's 
house.  The  spy  said  to  his  companions : 

"Let  one  of  you  hurry  to  the  Sire  of  Charny  and  notify  him 
that  Marcel  is  going  with  his  men  to  the  gate  of  St.  Antoine. 
The  other  of  you  run  ahead  of  the  bandits  and  notify  Master 
Maillart  that  they  are  coming.  I  shall  follow  them  at  a  dis- 
tance and  watch  their  movements.  Let  each  be  at  his  post  and 
well  armed." 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  GATE  OF  ST.  ANTOINE. 

The  clock  had  sounded  the  first  hour  of  morning  from  the 
church  in  the  quarter  of  St.  Antoine.  Just  before  sinking  below 
the  horizon  the  moon  still  shed  enough  light  to  brighten  with  a 
fringe  of  silver  the  topmost  battlement  of  the  two  high  towers 
that  defend  the  gate  of  St.  Antoine,  towards  which  Etienne  Mar- 
cel was  wending  his  way  accompanied  by  the  councilman  Philip 
Giffart  and  Jocelyn,  and  holding  two  keys  in  his  hands.  The 
other  magistrates  and  a  group  of  their  partisans  had  posted 
themselves,  at  the  request  of  the  provost,  in  a  house  near  the 
ramparts.  The  profoundest  silence  reigned  near  a  wide  and 
dark  vaulted  passage  that  led  to  the  gate  of  the  city.  A  man 
leading  a  horse  by  the  bridle  followed  Marcel  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. 

"This  is  the  decisive  moment,"  Marcel  was  saying  to  his 
companions.  "If  Charles  the  Wicked  has  come  to  our  rendezvous, 
we  then  have  a  chance  of  success  ...  if  not,  I  shall  mount 
that  horse  and  ride  to  Charenton  to  deliver  myself  to  the 
Eegent  1" 

Hardly  had  Marcel  finished  pronouncing  these  words  when 
two  sentinels,  posted  outside  the  dark  passage  which  he  was 
about  to  enter,  called  out:  "Montjoie,  the  King  and  Duke!" 
and  almost  at  the  same  moment  appeared  John  Maillart  stepping 
forward.  At  the  sight  of  his  old  friend,  whose  infamous  treason 
he  was  now  acquainted  with,  Marcel  stopped  indignant  and 
the  following  exchange  of  words  took  place : 

"Marcel,"  said  the  councilman  in  an  imperious  voice,  "Mar- 
cel, what  business  brings  you  here  at  this  hour?  You  should 
now  be  at  the  town-hall !" 


268  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

"What  business  is  that  of  yours,"  answered  Marcel.  "I  am 
here  to  guard  the  safety  of  the  town,  whose  government  is  in 
my  hands." 

"By  God!"  cried  Maillart  imperceptibly  drawing  nearer  to 
Marcel.  "By  God!  Yon  cannot  be  here  for  anything  good!" 
and  turning  to  the  two  sentinels  who  stood  motionless  a  few 
steps  off:  "You  see  it;  Marcel  holds  in  his  hands  the  keys  of 
the  gate  .  .  .  It  is  to-  betray  us !" 

"You  miserable  and  abominable  scamp,"  cried  Marcel,  "you 
lie  in  your  throat !" 

"No,  traitor,  it  is  you  who  lie!"  replied  Maillart,  and  sud- 
denly raising  a  short  axe  that  he  had  held  concealed  behind  his 
back,  he  leaped  with  one  bound  at  the  provost  crying :  "To  me, 
my  friends !  Death  to  Marcel !  Death  to  him  and  his  partisans ! 
They  are  all  traitors!"  Before  Jocelyn  or  Philip  Giffart  could 
foresee  and  parry  the  sudden  charge,  Maillart  dealt  so  furious 
a  blow  at  Marcel's  head  that  he  staggered  and  fell  bathed  in 
blood. 

At  Maillart's  cry,  "To  me,  my  friends  I"  the  passageway,  until 
then  dark,  was  suddenly  illumined  by  several  lanterns  that  had 
been  kept  under  the  cloaks  of  their  carriers.  By  the  glimmering 
light  a  large  number  of  men  were  seen,  all  armed  with  pikes, 
halbards  and  cutlasses.  Among  them  were  the  Sire  of  Charny, 
the  knight  James  of  Pontoise  and  the  councilman  Pierre  Des- 
sessarts.  Hardly  had  Marcel  dropped  under  the  axe  of  Mail- 
lart than  the  troop  of  assassins  issued  forth  from  their  ambuscade, 
and  crying:  "Montjoie,  the  King  and  Duke!"  precipitated 
themselves  upon  the  provost  to  despatch  him.  Marcel,  his  skull 
cleaved  in  two  and  his  face  covered  with  blood,  sought  to  regain 
his  feet  with  the  help  of  Jocelyn  and  Philip  Giffart.  These 
made  heroic  efforts  to  defend  the  wounded  man,  but  they  were 
soon  thrown  down  with  him  and  all  three  riddled  with  sword 
thrusts  and  axe  blows.  The  other  governors  and  several  of  fheir 
partisans,  who  were  posted  in  reserve  at  a  nearby  house  where 
they  were  to  await  the  issue  of  Marcel's  rendezvous  with  the 


THE  IRON  TREVET.  269 

King  of  Navarre,  hearing  the  increasing  tumult  and  cries  of 
"Montjoie,  the  King  and  Duke!"  rushed  to  the  gate  of  St. 
Antoine  intending  to  come  to  the  aid  of  the  provost.  Their  red 
and  blue  head-covers  pointed  them  out  to  the  fury  of  the  mur- 
derers. Their  heroic  defence  was  soon  overcome  and  they  were 
all  butchered  like  their  chief.  But  the  rage  of  Maillart  and  of 
the  Sire  of  Charny  was  not  yet  appeased. 

"To  death  with  all  the  enemies  of  our  Sire,  the  Kegent!" 
cried  the  seigneur.  "We  know  where  they  are  burrowing.  Let 
us  run  to  their  houses.  We  shall  kill  them  in  their  beds !" 

"To  death!"  responded  John  Maillart  brandishing  his  axe. 
"To  death  with  the  partisans  of  Marcel !  To  death  with  all  the 
communiers !" 

"Montjoie,  the  King  and  Duke !"  repeated  in  chorus  the  armed 
band.  "Death  to  the  red  and  blue !" 

"Friends!"  cried  the  seigneur  of  Charny,  "the  body  of  the 
knight  of  Conflans,  a  victim  of  the  popular  party,  was  exposed 
in  the  Student's  Dale.  Let  now  the  body  of  Marcel  be  exposed 
in  the  same  place  .  .  .  Carry  him  on  your  shoulders." 

"To-morrow  the  body  shall  be  placed  on  a  hurdle  and  dragged 
through  the  mud  to  the  Louvre  which  our  beloved  Sire,  the 
Eegent,  was  forced  to  leave  in  sight  of  Marcel's  threats.  After 
that  let  the  carcass  of  the  felon  be  thrown  into  the  river — un- 
worthy sepulchre  for  a  Christian/'  added  John  Maillart,  and  he 
said  to  himself,  thinking  of  his  wife :  "Petronille  will  no  longer 
reproach  me  with  being  under  the  provost;  Petronille  will  no 
longer  be  eaten  up  with  jealousy ;  Petronille  will  no  longer  hear 
that  Marguerite  is  the  wife  of  the  'King  of  Paris'  .  .  .  and 
I  shall  have  a  title  of  nobility." 

The  orders  of  the  Sire  of  Charny  and  Maillart  were  carried 
out.  The  corpse  of  the  provost  was  picked  out  from  among  his 
dead  friends.  Four  men  carried  on  their  shoulders  the  dis- 
figured remains  of  the  great  citizen,  and  marching  by  the  light 
of  torches,  the  funeral  cortege  wended  its  way  to  the  Student's 
Dale  brandishing  their  arms  and  shouting : 


270  THE  IRON   TREVET. 

"Death  to  the  partisans  of  the  governors !" 
"Death  to  the  red  and  blue !" 
"Montjoie,  the  King  and  Duke !" 

EPILOGUE. 

The  hatred  of  Etienne  Marcel's  enemies  pursued  him  beyond 
the  grave.  His  corpse,  taken  to  the  Student's  Dale,  remained 
there  the  whole  day  exposed  to  the  insults  and  the  jeers  of  the 
fickle  and  ingrate  mass  whose  enfranchisement  and  happiness 
he  had  labored  to  attain.  The  day  after  his  death  his  bloody 
and  mutilated  remains  were  thrown  upon  a  hurdle,  dragged  to- 
wards the  Seine  and  hurled  into  the  river  in  front  of  the  Louvre. 
Such  was  that  great  man's  sepulchre. 

The  principal  leaders  of  the  popular  party,  to  the  number  of 
sixty,  among  whom  were  Simon  the  Feather-dealer,  Cousac  and 
Pierre  Caillart,  were  executed  by  orders  of  John  Maillart  and  the 
Sire  of  Charny,  now  become  joint  dictators.  These  executions 
being  over,  the  dictators  delegated  Simon  Maillart,  a  brother 
of  the  councilman,  the  councilmen  Dessessarts  and  John  Pastorel, 
to  appear  before  the  Regent  and  notify  the  young  prince  that  he 
could  re-enter  his  good  town  of  Paris,  now  submissive  and  peni- 
tent. The  Regent  answered  the  delegation:  "That  will  be 
gladly  done."  Accompanied  by  a  numerous  cavalcade,  the  Ee- 
gent left  the  bridge  at  Charenton  and  re-entered  the  Louvre 
where,  in  the  language  of  the  chronicler  of  the  time,  "he  found 
John  Maillart,  whom  he  greatly  esteemed  and  loved." 

"As  the  Regent,"  the  chronicler  proceeds,  "was  crossing  a  cer- 
tain street  on  his  way  to  the  Louvre,  a  workingman  had  the  dar- 
ing to  call  out  aloud:  'By  God,  Sire,  if  my  advice  had  been 
taken,  you  would  not  now  be  entering  here.  But  nothing  will 
be  done  for  you.' '; 

These  and  some  other  instances  showed,  to  the  honor  of  hu- 
manity, that  ingratitude,  defection  and  the  fickleness  of  the 
masses — the  fruits  of  their  ignorance  and  secular  subjection — 


THE  IRON   TREVET.  271 

offered  at  least  pleasing  exceptions.  The  memory  of  Marcel  re- 
mained alive  and  sacred  in  the  hearts  of  many  loyal  to  the  popu- 
lar cause.  Despite  the  triumph  of  the  court  party,  several  con- 
spiracies were  started  looking  to  the  overthrow  of  the  throne 
and  intended  to  revenge  upon  the  Eegent  the  death  of  the  ven- 
erated Etienne  Marcel.  The  last  of  these  conspiracies  was  or- 
ganized by  a  rich  Paris  bourgeois,  Martin  Pisdoe.  He  mounted 
the  scaffold  and  paid  with  his  head  for  his  religious  devotion  to 
the  memory  of  Marcel. 

Jocelyn  the  Champion  had  been  left  for  dead  near  the  gate 
of  St.  Antoine  in  the  midst  of  a  heap  of  corpses.  Informed 
the  same  night  by  popular  rumors  of  the  assassination  of  the 
provost  and  his  partisans,  Rufin  the  Tankard-smasher  and  Alison 
the  Huffy  hastened  to  the  place  of  the  massacre  in  order  to  as- 
certain Jocelyn's  fate.  They  found  him  covered  with  wounds, 
ready  to  expire,  and  carried  him  to  a  charitable  person  in  the 
neighborhood  where,  thanks  to  their  untiring  care  he  was  rescued 
from  death.  Protected  by  the  obscurity  of  his  name,  he  long 
remained  hidden  in  that  asylum  where  a  surgeon,  a  friend  of 
Eufin,  visited  Him.  Only  slowly  did  he  regain  his  strength. 

Marguerite  learned  of  her  husband's  death  from  emissaries 
sent  by  John  Maillart,  who  came  that  same  night  to  arrest  her 
at  her  house.  Taken  to  prison,  the  unfortunate  woman  vainly 
implored  permission  to  bury  Marcel  with  her  own  hands.  The 
supreme  consolation  was  denied  her,  and  she  was  later  made 
acquainted  with  the  ignominies  inflicted  on  her  husband's  corpse. 
She  soon  died  in  captivity.  The  property  of  Etienne  Marcel 
was  confiscated  for  the  benefit  of  the  Eegent. 

Alison,  always  compassionate,  offered  Denise,  who  now  found 
herself  helpless  and  without  means,  to  share  with  her  the  cham- 
ber she  occupied  at  her  inn.  Often  the  two  called  to  see  Jocelyn 
the  Champion  in  his  secret  retreat.  Among  other  wounds  an 
axe-stroke  deprived  him  forever  of  the  use  of  his  right  arm. 
When  his  other  wounds  were  completely  healed,  he  married 


272  THE  IRON  TREVET. 

Denise;  on   the  sarnie   day  Dame   Alison   married   Rufin  the 
Tankard-Smasher. 

Jocelyn  had  inherited  a  little  patrimony,  thanks  to  which  he 
could  almost  wholly  cover  the  indispensible  needs  of  himself  and 
wife,  a  fortunate  circumstance  seeing  that  the  weakness  conse- 
quent upon  his  wounds  did  not  allow  him  to  pursue  his  profes- 
sion of  champion.  The  only  relative  left  to  Denise  lived  near 
the  frontier  of  Lorraine  in  the  town  of  Vaucouleurs.  Jocelyn 
decided  to  move  hither.  Despite  the  little  notice  he  had  drawn 
upon  himself  during  the  late  revolt,  it  would  have  been  impru- 
upon  himself  during  the  late  revolt,  it  would  have  been  impru- 
dent on  his  part  to  prolong  his  stay  in  Paris  after  his  recovery, 
seeing  that  the  re-action  of  the  court  party  was  implacable. 
Jocelyn  sold  his  patrimony,  took,  not  without  deep  regret,  leave 
from  Eufin  the  Tankard-smasher  and  Alison,  and  escaping  a 
hundred  dangers  from  the  bands  of  English  soldiers  and  mar- 
auders who  then  ravaged  Gaul,  he  reached  the  town  of  Vau- 
couleurs with  Denise  and  settled  there. 


THE  END. 


Date  Due 


PRINTED  IN   U.S.A.  CAT.     NO.     24      161 


